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Annual Subscription, 130.00. July 6, 1887. 


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IkllOW HU Women BY THESE PRESENTS, That 

while sundry and almost countless imitations of and substitutes for 
Enoch Morgan’s Sons Sapolio are offered by unscrupulous parties, 
who do not hesitate to represent them as the original article, 

£bts IlnOenture WITNESSETH, That there is but one 
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Morgan’s Sons Co., of New York, unsurpassed in quality, unexcelled 
in popularity, and widely known 
not only through its own merits, 
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the public. Imitation is the sin- 
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which they invariably find to be 
worth the price they pay for it. 

In Witness Whereof, we hereby 
affix a great seal and our cor- 
jiorate title. 

ENOCH MORGAN 



A CLEAR COMPLEXION ! 

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(Name and address furnished to ladies.) 
By mail, 50c. and $1 ; samples, 25c. 
Harmless. Prepared ONLY by .IAS. 
1». CAMPBELL, M.1L, 146 West 16th 
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Sold by Druggists. 



FACE, HANDS, FEET, 

and all their imperfec- 
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Development, Hair and 
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Dr. JOHN H. WOODBURY, 37 
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0 parlors— 3 for ladies. Establish- 
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EXTRACT. 

CAUTION.— Sec tliat 
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blown in each bottle, 
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Iknow HU Women by these presents, that 

while sundry and almost countless imitations of and substitutes for 
Enoch Morgan’s Sons Sapolio are offered by unscrupulous parties, 
who do not hesitate to represent them as the original article, 

tlbis Unbent lire WITNESSETH, That there is but one 
Sapolio, to wit the original article manufactured by the Enoch 
Morgan’s Sons Co., of New York, unsurpassed in quality, unexcelled 
in popularity, and widely known 
not only through its own merits, 
but through the many original 
modes which have been adopted 
to introduce it to the attention of 
the public. Imitation is the sin- 
cerest flattery. Cheapness is a 
poor proof of quality. Cheap im- 
itations are doubly doubtful. The 
most critical communities are the 
most liberal purchasers of Sapolio 
which they invariably find to be 
worth the price they pay for it. 

In Witness Whereof, we hereby 
affix a great seal and our cor- 
porate title. 

ENOCH MORGAN’S SONS CO. 



A CLEAR COMPLEXION ! 

West 63d St.,N.Y., lady writes: 

“I found Dr. Campbell’s Arsenic 
Complexion Wafers did all you guar- 
anteed they would do. I was delicate 
from the effects of malaria, could not 
sleep or eat, and had a ‘ WRETCHED 
COMPLEXION but NOW all is chang- 
ed. I not only sleep and eat well, but 
my complexion is the envy and talk of 
my lady friends. You may refer to me.” 
(Name aud address furnished to ladies.) 
By mail, 50c. and $1 ; samples, 25c. 
Harmless. Prepared ONLY by ,7 AS. 
P. CAMPBELL, M.D., 146 West 16th 
Street, New York. 

Sold by Druggists. 



FACE, HANDS, FEET, 

and all their imperfec- 
tions, including Facial 
Development, Hair and 
Scalp, Superfluous Hair, 
Birth Marks, Moles, 
Warts, Moth, Freckles, Bed Nose, 
Acne, Black Heads, Scars. Pitting, 
and their treatment. Send 10c. 
for book of 50 pages, 4th edition. 
Dr. JOHN H. WOODBURY, 37 
North Pearl St., Albany, N. V. 
G parlors— 3 for ladies. Establish- 
ed 1870. 


POND’S 

The Wonder of Healing! 

For PILES, BURNS, NEU- 
RALGIA, DIARRHEA, 
STINGS, SORE THROAT, 
EYES, FEET, INFLAM- 
MATIONS AND HEMOR- 
RHAGES OF ALL KINDS. 

Used Internally and Externally. 

POND’S EXTRACT CO., 
76 5th Ave., New York. 



EXTRACT. 

CAUTION.— Sec that 
tlie ivords “FOMi’S 
EXTRACT” are 
blown in each bottle, 
inclosed in a bull-col- 
ored wrapper, bear- 
ing our landscape 
trade-mar k— none 
other is genuine. 

Sold everywhere. 
Price, 50c., Si, *1. 75. 
POND’S EXTRACT CO., 
76 5th Ave., New York. 





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complete CATALOGUE BY AUTHORS. 

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WETHERALD 

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295 Random Shots 20 

825 Elbow Room 20 

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560 The Adventurers 10 

567 The Trail-Hunter 10 

573 Pearl of the Andes 10 

1011 Pirates of the Prairies 10 

1021 The Trapper’s Daughter 10 

1032 The Tiger Slayer 10 

1045 Trappers of Arkansas 10 

1052 Border Rifles 10 

1063 The Freebooters 10 

1069 The White Scalper 10 

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346 An Interesting Case 20 

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62 The Wooing O’t, 2 Parts, each 15 

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209 ' The Executor 20 

349 Valerie’s Fate 10 

664 At Bay 10 

746 Beaton’s Bargain 20 

777 A Second Life 20 

799 Maid, Wife, or Widow 10 

840 By Woman’s Wit 20 

995 Which Shall it Be ? 20 


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419 Fairy Tales 20 

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436 The Light of Asia 20 

455 Pearls of the Faith 15 

472 Indian Song of Songs 10 

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756 Conspiracy 25 

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206 Cast up by the Sea 20 

227 Rifle and Hound in Ceylon 20 

233 Eight Years’ Wandering in Ceylon . . 20 

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381 A Fair Device 20 

405 Life of J. G. Blaine 20 

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215 The Red Eric 20 

226 The Fire Brigade 20 

239 Erling the Bold 20 

241 Deep Down 20 

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878 Little Tu’penny 10 

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460 Galaski 20 


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394 The Giant’s Robe. 20 

453 Black Poodle, and Other Tales 20 

616 The Tinted Venus 15 

755 A Fallen Idol 20 

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496 Woman’s Trials 20 

507 The Two Wives 15 

518 Married Life 15 

638 The Ways of Providence 15 

545 Ilome Scenes .15 

554 Stories for Parents 15 

563 Seed-Time and Harvest 15 

568 Words for the Wise 15 

674 Stories for Young Housekeepers 15 

579 Lessons in Life 15 

682 Off-Hand Sketches 15 

685 Tried and Tempted 15 


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712 

BY 

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MRS. E. BEDELL BENJAMIN 

748 

Our Roman Palace 

....20 


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470 

Vic 

. ..15 


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901 

Charles Auchester 

....20 


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77 

Pillone 

15 


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366 

The Sergeant's Legacy 


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BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON 

3 

The Happy Bov 


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Arne 



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BY WALTER BESANT 

18 They Were Married 10 

108 Let Nothing You Dismay 10 

257 All in a Garden Fair 20 

268 When the Ship Comes Home 10 

384 Dorothy Forster 20 

699 Self or Bearer 10 

842 The World Went Very Well Then . .20 

847 The Holy Rose 10 

1002 To Call Her Mine 20 

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48 A Princess of Thule 20 

82 A Daughter of Heth 20 

85 Shandon Bells 20 

93 Macleod of Dare 20 

136 Yolande 20 

142 Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. . . 20 

146 White Wings 20 

153 Sunrise, 2 Parts, each 15 

178 Madcap Violet 20 

180 Kilmeny 20 

182 That Beautiful Wretch 20 

184 Green Pastures, etc 20 

188 In Silk Attire 20 

213 The Three Feathers 20 

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217 The Four MacNicols 10 

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958 Sabina Zembra 20 

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588 To the Bitter End 20 

596 Dead Sea Fruit 2C 

698 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

766 Vixen 20 

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870 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

871 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

872 Taken at the Flood .20 

873 Asphodel 20 

877 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

878 Only a Clod 20 

879 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

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881 Birds of Prey 20 

882 Chai'lotte’s Inheritance 20 

883 Rupert God win 20 

886 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

887 A Strange World 20 

888 Mount Royal 20 

889 Just As I Am 20 

890 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

892 Hostages to Fortune 20 

893 Fenton’s Quest 20 

894 The Cloven Foot 20 


2 


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1009 The Great Hesper 20 

BY R. D. BLACKMORE 

851 Lorna Doone, Part 1 20 

851 Lorna Doone, Part II 20 

936 Maid of Sker ... 20 

955 Cradock Nowell, Part 1 20 

955 Cradock Nowell, Part II 20 

961 Springhaven 20 

1034 Mary Anerley 20 

1035 Alice Lorraine 20 

1036 Cristowell 20 

1037 Clara Vaughan.. 20 

1038 Cripps the Carrier 20 

1039 Remarkable History of Sir Thomas 

Upmore 20 

1040 Erema; or, My Father’s Sin .20 

BY LILLIE D. BLAKE 

105 Woman’s Place To-day 20 

697 Fettered for Life 25 

BY ANNIE BRADSHAW 

716 A Crimson Stain ...20 

BY CHARLOTTE BREMER 

418 Life of Fredrika Bremer 20 

BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE 

74 Jane Eyre 20 

897 Shirley 20 

BY RHODA BROUGHTON 

23 Second Thoughts 20 

230 Belinda 20 

781 Betty’s Visions 15 

841 Dr. Cupid 20 

1022 Good-Bye, Sweetheart ... 20 

1023 Red as a Rose is She 20 

1024 Cometh up as a Flower. . . 20 

1025 Not Wisely but too Well 20 

1026 Nancy 20 

1027 Joan 20 

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421 A urora Leigh 20 

479 Poems 35 

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552 Selections from Poetical Works 20 

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 

443 Poems 20 

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318 The New Abelard 20 

696 The Master of the Mine 10 

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200 The Pilgrim’s Progress 20 

BY ROBERT BURNS 

430 Poems 20 

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113 More Words about the Bible 20 

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100 Nimport, 2 Parts, each 15 

102 Tritons, 2 Parts, each 15 


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660 For Lilias 20 

91 1 Not Like other Girls 20 

912 Robert Ord’s Atonement 20 

959 Wee Wifie 20 

960 Wooed and Married 20 

BY WM. CARLETON 

190 Willy Reilly 20 

820 Shane Fadh’s Wedding 10 

821 Larry McFarland’s Wake 10 

822 The Party Fight and Funeral 10 

823 The Midnight Mass 10 

824 Phil Purcel 10 

825 An Irish Oath 10 

826 Going to Maynooth 10 

827 Phelim O’Toole’s Courtship 10 

828 Dominick, the Poor Scholar 10 

829 Neal Malone 10 

BY THOMAS CARLYLE 

4S6 History of French Revolution, 2 

Parts, each 25 

494 Past and Present 20 

D00 The Diamond Necklace ; and Mira- 

beau 20 

503 Chartism , 20 

5)8 Sartor Resartus 20 

514 Early Kings of Norway 20 

620 Jean Paul Friedrich Richter 10 

522 Goethe, and Miscellaneous Essays. . . 10 

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52S Voltaire and Novalis 15 

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546 Signs of the Times 15 

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580 “ “ “ Yol. II 20 

591 “ “ “ Yol. Ill 20 

610 “ “ “ Yol. IV.. 20 

619 “ “ “ Yol. V 20 

622 “ “ “ Yol. VI 20 

626 “ “ “ Yol. Y11 20 

628 “ “ “ Yol. VIII 20 

630 Life of John Sterling 20 

633 Latter-Day Pamphlets 20 

636 Life of Schiller 20 

613 Oliver Cromwell, Yol. 1 25 

646 “ “ Vol. II 25 

649 “ “ Vol. Ill 25 

652 Characteristics and other Essays. . . .15 

656 Corn Law Rhymes and other Essays . 15 

658 Baillie the Covenanter and other Es- 
says 15 

661 Dr. Francia and other Essays 15 

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480 Alice’s Adventures 20 

481 Through the Looking-Glass 20 

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Samuel Brohl Si Co 20 

BY BERTHA M, CLAY 

Her Mother’s Sin 20 

Dora Thorne 20 

Beyond Pardon 20 

A Broken Wedding-Ring .20 

Repented at Leisure 20 

Sunshine and Roses 20 

The Earl’s Atonement 20 

A Woman’s Temptation 20 

Love Works Wonders 20 

Fair but False , 10 

Between Two Sins 10 

At War with Herself 15 

Hilda 10 

Her Martyrdom 20 

Lord Lynn’s Choice 10 

The Shadow of a Sin 10 

Wedded and Parted 10 

In Cupid’s Net 10 

Lady Darner’s Secret 20 

A Gilded Sin 10 

Between Two Loves .20 

For Another’s Sin 20 

Romance of a Young Girl 20 

A Queen Amongst Women 10 

A Golden Dawn 10 

Like no Other Love 10 

A Bitter Atonement 20 

Evelyn’s Folly 20 

Set in Diamonds 20 

A Fair Mystery 20 

Thorns and Orange Blossoms 10 

Romance of a Black Veil 10 

Love's Wari. -e 10 

Madolin’s Lover 20 

From Out the Gloom 20 

Which Loved Him Best 10 

A True Magdalen 20 

The Sin of a Lifetime 20 

Prince Charlie’s Daughter 10 

A Golden Heart 10 

Wife in Name Only 20 

A Woman’s Error 20 

Marjorie 20 

A Wilful Maid 20 

Lady Castlemaine’s Divorce 20 

Claribel’s Love Story 20 

Thrown on the World 20 

Under a Shadow 20 

A Struggle for a Ring 20 

Hilary’s Folly 20 

A Haunted Life 20 

A Woman’s Love Story 20 

A Woman’s War 20 

’Twixt Smile and Tear 20 

Lady Diana’s Pride 20 

Belle of Lynn 20 

Marjorie’s Fate 20 

Sweet Cymbeline 20 

Redeemed by Love 20 

The Squire’s Darling 10 

The Mystery of Colde Fell 20 

REV. JAS. FREEMAN CLARK 

Anti-Slavery Days 20 

BY S. T. COLERIDGE 

Poems 30 


242 

183 

277 

287 

420 

42-3 

458 

465 

474 

476 

558 

593 

651 

669 

689 

692 

694 

695 

700 

701 

718 

720 

727 

730 

733 

738 

739 

740 

744 

752 

764 

800 

801 

803 

804 

806 

807 

808 

809 

810 

811 

812 

815 

896 

922 

923 

926 

928 

929 

930 

932 

933 

934 

909 

984 

985 

986 

988 

989 

1007 

1012 

1013 

BY 

167 

23 


3 


LOVELI/S LIBRARY, 


BY WILKIE COLLINS 

8 The Moonstone, Tart 1 10 

9 The Moonstone, Part II 10 

24 The New Magdalen 20 

87 Heart and Science 20 

418 “I Say No” 20 

487 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices 15 

688 The Ghost’s Touch 10 

686 My Lady’s Money 10 

722 The Evil Genius 20 

830 The Guilty River 10 

957 The Dead Seci-et 20 

990 The Queen of Hearts 20 

1003 The Haunted Hotel 10 

BY HUGH CONWAY 

429 Called Back 15 

402 Daxk Days 15 

612 Carriston’s Gift 10 

617 Paul Vargas: a Mystery 10 

631 A Family Affair 20 

607 Story of a Sculptor 10 

672 Slings and Arrows 10 

715 A Cardinal Sin 20 

745 Living or Dead 20 

750 Somebody’s Story 10 

90S Bound by a Spell 20 

BY J. FENIMCRE COOPER 

6 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

63 The Spy 20 

805 The Pathfinder 20 

878 Homeward Bound 20 

441 Home as Found 20 

463 The Deerslayer 30 

4G7 The Prairie 20 

471 The Pioneer 25 

4S4 The Two Admirals 20 

48S The Water- Witch 20 

401 The Red Rover 20 

601 The Pilot 20 

600 Wing and Wing 20 

612 Wyandotte 20 

61 7 Heidenmauer 20 

619 The Headsman 20 

524 The Bravo 20 

527 Lionel Lincoln 20 

629 Wept of Wish-ton-Wish 20 

532 Afloat and Ashore 20 

539 Miles Wallingford 20 

543 The Monikins 20 

648 Mei’cedes of Castile 20 

553 The Sea Lions 20 

559 The Crater 20 

502 Oak Openings 20 

570 Satanstoe 20 

576 The Chain-Bearer 20 

587 Ways of the Hour 20 

601 Precaution 20 

603 Redskins 25 

611 Jack Tier 20 

BY KINAHAN CORNWALLIS 

409 Adrift with a Vengeance 25 

BY THE COUNTESS 

1028 A Passion Flower 20 

1041 The World Between Them 20 

BY GEORGIANA M. CRAIK 

1006 A Daughter of the People 20 


BY R. CRISWELL 

850 Grandfather Lickthingle 20 

BY R. H. DANA, JR. 

464 Two Years before the Mast 20 

BY DANTE 

345 Dante’s Vision of Hell, Purgatory, 

and Paradise 20 

BY FLORA A. DARLING 

260 Mi’s. Darling’s War Letters 20 

BY JOYCE DARRELL 

315 Winifred Power 20 

BY ALPHONSE DAUDET 

478 Tartarin of Tarascon 20 

604 Sidonie 20 

613 Jack 20 

615 The Little Good-for-Nothing 20 

645 The Nabob 25 

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453 Mystic London 20 

BY THE DEAN OF ST. PAUL’S 

431 Life of Spenser 10 

BY C. DEBANS 

475 A Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing 20 

BY REV. C. F. DEEMS, D.D. 

704 Evolution 20 

BY DANIEL DEFOE 

428 Robinson Crusoe 25 

BY THOS. DE QUINCEY 

20 The Spanish Nun 10 

BY CHARLES DICKENS 

10 Oliver Twist 20 

38 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

75 Child’s History of England 20 

91 Pickwick Papers, 2 Parts, each 20 

140 The Cricket on tlie Heai'th 10 

144 Old Curiosity Shop, 2 Parts, each... 15 

150 Barnaby Rudge, 2 Parts, each 15 

158 David Copperfield, 2 Parts, each 20 

170 Hard Times 20 

192 Great Expectations 20 

201 Martin Chuzzlewit, 2 Parts, each. . ..20 

210 American Notes 20 

219 Dornbey and Son, 2 Parts, each 20 

223 Little Dorrit, 2 Parts, each 20 

228 Our Mutual Friend, 2 Parts, each... 20 

231 Nicholas Nickleby, 2 Parts, each 20 

234 Pictures from Italy 10 

237 The Boy at Mugby 10 

244 Bleak House, 2 Parts, each 20 

246 Sketches of the Young Couples 10 

261 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

267 The Haunted House, etc 10 

270 The Mudfog Papers, etc 10 

273 Sketches by Boz .20 

274 A Christmas Carol, etc 15 

282 Uncommercial Traveller 20 

288 Somebody’s Luggage, etc 10 

293 The Battle of Life, etc 10 

297 Mystery of Edwin Di-ood 20 

298 Reprinted Pieces 20 

302 No Thoroughfare 15 

437 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices 10 


4 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY, 


BY CARL DETLEF 

27 Irene ; or, The Lonely Manor 20 

BY PROF. DOWDEN 

404 Life of Southey 10 

BY JOHN DRYDEN 

498 Poems 30 

BY DU BOISGOBEY 

1018 Condemned Door 20 

BY THE “DUCHESS” 

58 Portia 20 

76 Molly Bawn 20 

78 Phyllis 20 

86 Monica 10 

90 Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

92 Airy Fairy Lilian 20 

126 Loys, Lord Beresford 20 

182 Moonshine and Marguerites 10 

162 Faith and Unfaith 20 

16S Beauty’s Daughters 20 

284 Rossmoyne 20 

451 Doris 20 

477 A Week in Killarney 10 

530 In Durance Vile 10 

61S Dick’s Sweetheart ; or, “ O Tender 

Dolores” 20 

621 A Maiden all Forlorn 10 

624 A Passive Crime 10 

721 Lady Branksmere 20 

735 A Mental Struggle 20 

737 The Haunted Chamber 10 

792 Her "Week’s Amusement 10 

802 Lady Valworth's Diamonds 20 

BY LORD DUFFERIN 

95 Letters from High Latitudes 20 

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part 1 20 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part II 20 

775 The Three Guardsmen 20 

786 Twenty Years After 20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo, Part I 20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo, Part II. . . 20 

885 Monte Cristo and His Wife 20 

891 Countess of Monte Cristo, Part I... 20 

891 Countess of Monte Cristo, Part II... 20 

998 Beau Tancrede 20 

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JR. 

992 Camille 10 

BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDS 

681 A Girton Girl 20 

BY GEORGE ELIOT 

56 Adam Bede, 2 Parts, each 15 

69 Amos Barton 10 

71 Silas Marner 10 

79 Romola, 2 Parts, each 15 

149 Janet’s Repentance 10 

151 Felix Holt 20 

174 Middlemarch, 2 Parts, each 20 

195 Daniel Deronda, 2 Parts, each 20 

202 Theophrastus Such 10 

2U5 The Spanish Gypsy. and other Poems20 

207 The Mill on the Floss, 2 Parts, each. 15 

208 Brother Jacob, etc 10 

374 Essays, and Leaves from a Note- 

Book 20 


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203 Disarmed 15 

663 The Flower of Doom 10 

1005 Next of Kin 20 

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON 

373 Essays 20 

ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. 
EDITED BY JOHN MORLEY 

348 Bnnyan, by J. A. Fronde 10 

407 Burke, by John Morley .10 

334 Burns, by Principal Shairp 10 

347 Byron, by Professor Nichol 10 

413 Chaucer, by Prof. A. W. Ward 10 

424 Cowper, by Goldwin Smith 10 

377 Defoe, by William Minto 10 

383 Gibbon, by J. C. Morrison 10 

225 Goldsmith, by William Black 10 

369 Hume, by Professor Huxley 10 

401 Johnson, by Leslie Stephen 10 

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850 My Hero 20 

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860 Omnia Vanitas 10 

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978 Victor and Vanquished 20 

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728 The Hillyars and Bartons 20 

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322 Mark Seaworth 20 

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798 Prince of the Hundred Soups 10 

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240 Kenelm Chillingly 20 

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253 Lucretia 20 

255 Last of the Barons, 2 Parts, each ... 15 

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271 My Novel, 3 Parts, each 20 

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388 Life in the Wilds 15 

395 Sowers not Reapers 15 

400 Glen of the Echoes 15 


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901 A Lucky Disappointment 10 

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906 My Own Child 20 

907 No Intentions 20 

908 Written in Fire 20 

909 A Little Stepson 10 

910 With Cupid’s Eyes 20 

931 Why Not? 20 

937 My Sister the Actress 20 

938 Captain Norton’s Diary 10 

939 Girls of Feversham ... .20 

940 The Root of all Evil 20. 

9i2 Facing the Footlights 20 

943 Petronel 20 

944 A Star and a Heart . .10 

945 Ange 20 

946 A Harvest of Wild Oats 20 

947 The Poison of Asps 10 

948 Fair-Haired Alda 20 

949 The Heir Presumptive 20 

950 Under the Lilies and Roses 20 

951 Heart of Jane Warner 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, Part 1 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, Part II 20 

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954 Out of His Reckoning 10 

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990 Open Sesame 20 

991 Mad Dumaresq 20 

999 Fighting the Air 20 

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165 Eyre’s Acquittal 10 

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60 The Two Duchesses 20 

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328 How It All Came Round 20 

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331 Lucile 20 

BY JOHN MILTON 

389 Paradise Lost 20 

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377 Life of Defoe 10 

BY MRS. MOLESWORTH 

1008 Marrying and Giving in Marriage ..10 

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487 Poems 40 

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312 Golden Girls 20 

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1000 Frederick the Great and his Court. .30 

1014 The Daughter of an Empress 30 

1033 Goethe and Schiller 30 

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197 By the Gate of the Sea 15 

758 Cynic Fortune 10 

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410 Life of Wordsworth t 10 

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435 Miss Tommy 15 

751 King Arthur 20 

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5G4 Hand-Book for the Kitchen 20 

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83 Bight and Wrong Uses of the Bible. .20 

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392 Life of Milton 10 

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659 Luck of the Darrells 20 

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1015 Pemberton 30 

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432 Gold Bug, and Other Tales 15 

438 The Assignation, and Other Tales . . 15 

447 The Murders in the Rue Morgue 15 


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406 The Theory of the Modern Scien- 
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391 Homer’s Odyssey 20 

396 Homer’s Iliad 30 

457 Poems 30 

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382 Thaddeus of Warsaw 25 


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1010 Mrs. Gregory 20 

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415 A Perilous Secret 20 

759 Foul Play 20 

773 Put Yourself in his Place 20 

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914 A Terrible Temptation 20 

915 Very Hard Cash 20 

916 It is Never Too Late to Mend 20 

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918 A Woman Hater 20 

919 Readiana 10 

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16 Freckles 20 

403 The Brierfield Tragedy 20 

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556 Dame Durden 20 

599 Like Dian’s Kiss 20 

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837 Marked “ In Haste ” 20 

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329 Poems 20 

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159 Charlotte Temple 10 

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497 Sesame and Lilies 10 

505 Crown of Wild Olives 10 

510 Ethics of the Dust 10 

516 Queen of the Air 10 

521 Seven Lamps of Architecture 20 

637 Lectures on Architecture and Paint- 
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642 Stones of Venice, 3 Vols., each 25 

565 Modern Painters, Vol. 1 20 

672 “ “ Vol. II 20 

577 “ “ Vol. Ill 20 

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608 “ “ Vol. V 25 

598 King of the Golden River 10 

623 Unto this Last 10 

627 Munera Pulveris 15 

637 “ A Joy Forever ” 15 

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642 The Two Paths 20 

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668 St. Mark’s Rest 15 

670 Deucalion 15 

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399 John Holdsworth 20 

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171 Tom Cringle’s Log 20 

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359 Lady of the Lake, with Notes 20 

489 Bride of Lammermoor 20 

490 Black Dwarf 10 

492 Castle Dangerous 15 

493 Legend of Montrose 15 

495 The Surgeon’s Daughter 10 

499 Heart of Mid-Lothian 30 

502 Waverley . >* 20 

504 Fortunes of Nigel 20 

509 Peveril of the Peak 30 

515 The Pirate 20 

536 Poetical Works 40 

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551 Woodstock 20 

557 Count Robert of Paris 20 

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575 Quentin Durward 20 

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586 St. Ronan’s Well 20 

595 Anne of Geierstein 20 

605 Aunt Margaret’s Mirror 10 

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609 The Monastery 20 

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648 Mellichampe ... 30 

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657 Katherine Walton 30 

662 Southward Ho ! 30 

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677 V asconselos 30 

680 Confession 30 

684 Woodcraft 30 

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513 Hen, Women, and Lovers ..... 20’ 

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780 Bad to Beat 10 

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694 A Summer in Skye 20 

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424 Life of Cowper 10 

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768 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. 

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793 New Arabian Nights 20 

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729 In Prison and Out 20 

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316 Great Hoggarty Diamond 1C 

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154 Tour of the World in Eighty Days. .20 
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169 Beyond the Sunrise 20 

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360 Modern Christianity a Civilized 

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291 Famous Funny Fellows 20 

323 Life of Paul Jones 20 

332 Every-Day Cook-Book 20 

340 Clayton’s Rangers 20 

385 Swiss Family Robinson 20 

386 Childhood of the World 10 

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402 How He Reached the White House. 25 

433 Wrecks in the Sea of Life 20 

434 Typhaines Abbey 25 

483 The Child Hunters 15 

857 A Wilful Young Woman 20 

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967 The Three Bummers 20 

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937 My Sister the Actress, by Marryat..20 

938 Captain Norton’s Diary, by Marryat.lO 

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940 The Root of All Evil, by Marryat..20 

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942 Facing the Footlights, by Marryat.20 

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944 A Star and a Heart, by Marryat... 10 

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950 Under the Lilies and Roses, by 

Florence Marryat 20 

951 The Heart of Jane Warner, by 

Florence Marryat 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, by Marryat, P’t I 20 
Love’s Conflict, by Marryat, P’t II.. 20 

953 Phyllida, by Florence Marryat 20 

954 Out of his Reckoning, by Marryat.lO 

955 CradockNowell, by Blackmore.P’t 1.20 
Cradock Nowell, by R. D. Black- 

more, P’t II 20 

956 The Woodlanders, by Hardy 20 

957 The Dead Secret, by Wilkie Collins.20 
95S Sabina Zembra, by William Black.. 20 

959 Wee Wifie, by R. N. Carey 20 

960 Wooed and Married, by Carey 20 

961 Springhaven, by R. D. Blackmore. .20 

962 Knight-Errant, by Edna Lyall 20 

963 Her Johnnie, by Violet Whyte 20 

964 Far from the Madding Crowd, by 

Thomas Hardy 20 

965 The Lilies of Florence, by G. Sand.20 

966 The Story of Our Mess, Tribune 

Prize War Stories 20 

967 The Three Bummers, Tribune Prize 

War Stories 20 

968 Bound by a Spell, by Hugh Conway. 20 

969 A Woman’s War, by B. M. Clay 20 

970 Against her Will, by A. M. Howard.20 

971 Nora’s Love Test, by Mary C. Hay.20 

972 The Squire’s Legacy, by M. C. Hay.20 

973 Dorothy’s Venture, by M. C. Hay. .20 

974 My First Offer, by Mary Cecil Hay. 10 

975 Back to the Old Home, by M.C.Hay.10 

976 For Her Dear Sake, by M. C. Hay.. 20 

977 Hidden Perils, by Mary Cecil Hay.. 20 

978 Victor and Vanquished, by Hay... 20 

979 Her World Against a Lie, by Flor- 

ence Marryat 20 

980 At the World’s Mercy, F. Warden.10 


ISSUES* 

981 The House on the Marsh, by F. 


Warden 20 

982 Deldee, by F. Warden .20 


983 A Prince of Darkness, by Warden. 20 

984 ’Twixt Smile and Tear, by Clay 20 

985 Lady Diana’s Pride, by B. M. Clay.20 

986 Belle of Lynn, by Bertha M. Clay . . 20 

987 Romance of a Poor Young Man, by 

Octave Feuillet 10 

988 Marjorie’s Fate, by Bertha M. Clay.20 

989 Sweet Cymbeline, by B. M. Clay.... 20 

990 Open Sesame, by Florence Marryat.20 

991 Mad Dumaresq, by F. Marryat 20 

992 Camille, by Alexandre Dumas, Jr.. 10 

993 The Child Wife, by A. M. Howard.10 

994 Lucy Crofton, by Mrs. Oliphant 10 

995 Which Shall it Be ? by Mrs. Alex- 

ander 20 

996 The Queen of Hearts, by Collins . . .20 

997 The Golden Hope, by W. C. Russell.20 

998 Beau Tancrede, by Alex. Dumas . .20 

999 Fighting the Air, by F. Marryat... 20 

In Press : 

1000 Frederick the Great and his Court, 


by Louisa Muhlbach 30 

1001 Frankley, by Henri Greville 20 


1002 To Call Her Mine, by W. Besant.20 

1003 The Haunted Hotel, by W. Collins. 10 

1004 This Man’s Wife, by G. M. Fenn. . 20 

1005 Next of Kin Wanted, by M. Beth- 

am-Edwards 20 

1006 A Daughter of the People, by 

Georgiana M. Craik 20 

1007 Redeemed by Love, by B. M. Clay.20 

1008 Marrying and Giving in Marriage, 

by Mrs. Molesworth 10 

1009 The Great Hesper, by F. Barrett.. 20 

1010 Mrs. Gregory, by Agues Ray 20 

1011 Pirates of the Prairies, by Aimard.10 

1012 The Squire’s Darling, by Clay... 10 

1013 The Mystery of Colde Fell, by 

Bertha M. Clay 20 

1014 The Daughter of an Empress, by 

Louisa Muhlbach 30 

1015 Pemberton, by Henry Peterson... 30 

1016 Taras Bulla, by Nikolai V. Gogol.. 20 

1017 A Vital Question, by Nikolai G. 

Tchernuishcosky 30 

1018 The Condemned Door, by F. du 

Boisgobey 20 

1019 Soeur Louise (Louise de Bruneval)20 

1020 Allan Quatermain, by Haggard... 20 


Dealers can always obtain complete Catalogues with imprint, for free distribu- 
tion, on application to the Publishers, 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY. 

14 & 16 Vesey Street, New York. 


MRS. GREGORY 




AGNES RAY 

eU^iu) ''it 


(_ ilJL 22 iMZ// 

Y^. /r/2 S’ ^ 


NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

14 and 16 Vesey Street 


Copyright, 1887, by 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 


TROW’S 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY# 
NEW YORK. 


MRS. GREGORY 


CHAPTER I. 

“The northwest suite, Mrs. Deems,” said the butler, 
as he opened the door of the house-keeper’s room, “ if 
you please, is to be in horder for the hexpress puncti- 
liously.” 

“And suppose I don’t please,” replied the stately 
person addressed, “what then ?” 

“ Hit must be in horder just the same, honly in that 
case Miss Mary and I must see to it,” and he bowed 
with a comical look to a young girl seated by the win- 
dow. 

“ You need not trouble yourself, Mr. Podgson, but 
as you are here, you may as well tell me who is com- 
ing.” 

“The hayer, to be sure, young Master Mason, the 
Colonel’s nevvy. Heverything must be spick and span 
for ’im.” 

“ I’m happy to say my department needs no improve- 
ment. I’m always ready for inspection.” 

“ Hexactly, and mine being the same, I have time to 
waste in talking.” 

“ I beg you will waste no more here,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Deems, catching Mary in a glance at the butler, who 
was rather disposed to flirtations, of a mild type, with 


4 


MRS. GREGORY. 


the young women in process of being turned into use- 
ful housemaids by Mrs. Deems. 

This transformation was the good housekeeper’s 
strong point ; but Mr. Podgson was a thorn in her 
side. She could not leave the room for five minutes, 
without finding that he had invaded it during her ab- 
sence, and left some mysterious influence that showed 
its power in various airs and graces on the part of the 
young girl whose duty it was to sit quietly and sew, 
and to be impassive and demure. He was particularly 
troublesome since Mary was taken in training. Much 
time did Mrs. Deems devote fruitlessly to a considera- 
tion of the subject. She had her own reasons for not 
offending the high official, who knew everything, and 
heard everything, and who made regular reports of the 
table talk for her especial edification, but, all the same 
she was rigid on the proprieties. 

“Come to me the very minit you finish that table- 
cloth, Mary Spencer. If you waste time talking to Mr. 
Podgson, you shan’t have your evenin’ out.” 

“Yes, urn,” says Mary demurely. Mary really in- 
tended to obey, but in this strange world when the 
doors are closed on temptations they come in at the 
windows. This case was no exception, for no sooner 
had Mrs. Deems emphasized her words by her decisive 
way of closing the door, than Mr. Podgson who had 
prudently disappeared, made a leap to the window-sill 
from outside, close beside the object of his admiration. 

“ Gracious goodness ! however did you get there, 
Mr. Podgson. I declare you are the tryin’est man.” 

“ Now, my dear, none of that. I am possessed with 
a hardent admiration for you, and think nothing of 
climbing walls, and storming battlements for your sake.” 

“ Dor, how beautiful you do talk. It can’t do no hurt 
to listen while I sew.” 


MRS. GREGORY. 


5 


“ Not at all. The danger will be mine. I will watch 
the gleam of the needle, and the waves of color chasing 
each hother over the lily-white calm of your face.” 

Mr. Podgson got his metaphors a little mixed now 
and then, but to Mary his words were all poetry, and 
naturally she turned her face a little more to the light. 

“You make such a shadder, I ’ave to turn so that I 
can see,” she explained. 

“Yes, my dear, and so that I can see also. I happre- 
ciate the self-habnegation.” 

The butler contemplated the young girl with a faint 
idea that sometime he must settle down into a married 
man. But, alas ! he well knew that there were disad- 
vantages in the married state. No matter how lovely 
a Mary might enter it, she would indubitably go out of 
it old, and red, and frowsy, whereas in his present situ- 
ation, there was a constant succession of beautiful 
beings haunting Mrs. Deems’ rooms, all of whom 
seemed highly honored by his attentions. 

“William, the dog cart to meet the hexpress,” he 
called, as the passing of one of the stable boys re- 
minded him of this necessity. 

“ Yessir ! ’Spose King Charles will do. Lady Jane’s 
legs is jest bound up.” 

“ The Colonel is very choice of his nevvy, so don t 
run no risks. Did you speak, my dear?” turning to 
Mary. 

“Yes, I did. You oughtn’t to be a settin’ there jes’ 
where the boys can see you.” 

“The happarition of William was hunexpected, but 
I will come in if you wish.” 

“ Lor no ! For goodness sake do keep still. Tell me 
why Master Mason haint never been ’ere before ?’ 

“ It ’as took the Colonel sometime to forgive his 
sister for marryin’ the boy’s father ; Miss Nora was his 


6 


MRS. GREGORY. 


honly sister. While he was in Hindia she married a 
Hamerican artist, who was 'ere a paintin’ for the Colo- 
nel. Mrs. Deems and a governess had charge of Miss 
Nora, she and the Colonel being horphans, so to 
speak. There were no trouble till the hartist came, 
I told Mrs. Deems that Koopid was 'round, but before 
we knew where we were they were both gone. We 
were frightened out of our lives. My hair began to 
turn gray then and there, but bless you, while we were 
wonderin’ what to do, in she walked as cool as snow. 

‘ Send up Mrs. Deems,’ Podgson, says she. When Mrs. 
Deems went up, she hinformed her she was married to 
Mr. Mason, and hordered dinner for them two jest as 
composed as you please. Mrs. Deems was struck all 
on a heap, and none of us knew what to do. 'Owever, 
Mrs. Mason made no hexplanations, she dismissed the 
governess and had about as much henjoyment as could 
be put in the time between writin’ to the Colonel and 
’aving his answer. One day his letter came ; that very 
hafternoon Mr. and Mrs. Mason were off, bag and bag- 
gage. They went to the Hamericas.” 

“Where is they, Mr. Podgson?” 

“ The Hamericas is hilands in the western part of 
the Hatlantic Ocean ; they are sometimes called Hin- 
jies, from the hinjians who infest them.” 

“ Lor ! how much you do know.” 

“ Yes, my dear, I have hendeavored to learn the geog- 
raphy of this planet,” modestly replied Mr. Podgson. 

“Was her 'usband white like us ?” 

“ Not like us my dear, no Hamerican is like an Hing- 
lishman, though all I have seen are, so to speak, whit- 
ish. A colony from Hingland was once sent out to 
populate these hilands and they hintermarried with the 
hingians, which in centuries produced a whitish race.” 

“ Wasn’t there a war or something ? ” 


MRS. GREGORY. 


7 


“ ’Ardly a war. A few regiments were sent out to 
defend the colony. There was no trouble, the hingians 
was soon subdued, and now the colony is supported by 
raising cotton. Try and remember all this, my dear ; it 
is an ’umble hoffering on the halter of your heddica- 
tion.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Podgson, I know its a privilege to 
'ear you talk.” 

“ Mary ! ” 

“ Lor, I must go — how’d the nevvy get here ? ” she 
asked as she folded her work. 

“ His mother and father died, and the Colonel sent 
for the boy, and put 'im to school — run my dear ! ” 
Another imperious call alarmed Mr. Podgson, and 
Mary ran, managing to be in time to appease the wrath 
of the housekeeper, who was red and weary with the 
weight of her cares and of the linen. 

“ Here, Mary, carry this pile straight ahead ; don’t 
you know the northwest room ? ” 

Mary did not dare to say what she knew or did not 
know, but fortunately managed to navigate into the 
right corner, where several rooms were in process of 
preparation. Another girl was dusting, but was 
promptly dismissed. 

“ Of all stupid creatures, that Sally does beat. Take 
hold, Mary, take off the covers. I’ll see to the bed. I 
declare that last lavender was strong — it scents every- 
thing. Poor boy, with no parents. Well, it don’t seem 
most twenty years since his mother was dancing about 
here.” 

“He can dance about now, I suppose,” said Mary, 
“there’s room enough ?” 

“That depends,” said Mrs. Deems. “There’s never 
room enough unless people is pleasant, and there’s no 
knowing how the Colonel will take to him ; but that s 


8 


MRS. GREGORY. 


neither here nor there ; you mind your own affairs, 
Mary Spencer, that’s all you have to do.” 

The rooms were soon made attractive and the women 
disappeared, just before the dog-cart drove up to the 
door. The Colonel welcomed the boy warmly, ac- 
cording to his wont when pleasurably excited. The 
loneliness of his home had become a burden to him, 
and after refusing for years to see his nephew, he 
suddenly decided to ignore the American father, 
and see if there might be enough of his sister’s at- 
tractions in her son, to make him a congenial com- 
panion. 

Henry Mason’s story can be told in a few words. 
Left an orphan at an early age, he gladly obeyed the 
summons to come to England. His uncle’s lawyer met 
him on his arrival. He was kind to him, showed him 
London, gave him money, and then took him to a 
bright and pleasant school among the green hills and 
valleys of Devonshire. Five other boys were there, all 
actively engaged in playing, studying, and fighting. 
This last experience being considered necessary to the 
full development of a perfect John Bull. Mr. Stepney 
was the head of the educational department, while his 
kind wife made the boys as happy as was possible dur- 
ing their hours of leisure. There was one daughter 
of the house, who was eight years old when Henry 
Mason joined the family circle ; he and she grew upas 
brother and sister. The other boys left one after an- 
other, but the orphan boy remained, Mr. Stepney 
having been requested to look after him until Colonel 
Henderson returned from India. After his return he 
expressed no wish to see his nephew, and might have 
almost forgotten him had not the school been broken 
up by the death of Mr. Stepney. 

The widow, with Nettie the elder daughter, and two 


MRS. GREGORY. 9 

young children, was obliged to seek another residence, 
leaving Henry a second time homeless. 

. The young American was not deficient in spirit, but 
was advised by his friend, the lawyer, to be patient, and 
to trust his uncle for his future. Patience with this 
mysterious relative, to whom he was already so much 
indebted, was rendered difficult by a very common oc- 
currence. 

The necessity of separation revealed to Henry and 
Nettie that the brotherly and sisterly relation had 
vanished, and that they were desperately in love, and 
that life offered no attractions unless they were to- 
gether, and — and — all that sort of thing. This discovery 
was rather startling ; while it sent one of the young 
people away with a joyousness she scarcely compre- 
hended, it nearly drove the other one to desperation. 

He wrote to his uncle, suggesting the advisability of 
some occupation. There was no answer except through 
the lawyer, who inclosed money and directions to 
travel. He travelled to see his lady love to begin 
with, and then went to the continent, where he passed 
two very profitable years. He saw everything, and did 
everything, and became an adept in writing love-letters. 
Then he took his fate in his own hands, determined to 
return to America, and work for his daily bread, unless 
his uncle would find occupation for him. He longed 
to have a home to offer those he loved. His letter was 
answered by an invitation to visit “The Oaks,” with a 
promise of a decision on future plans. Joyfully he 
answered the summons, giving only one day to the be- 
loved Nettie and to Mrs. Stepney, whom he called 
mother, not in anticipation, but from gratitude and 
love. The family were living in the outskirts of 
London, in very plain lodgings, although their good 
landlady called her house a “ villa.” Henry’s visit so 


10 


MRS. GREGORY. 


brightened and cheered Mrs. Stepney, who had been 
for some years an invalid, that he did not realize how 
ill she really was, and the day was as bright to him as 
its sunlight, and one long remembered for its unbroken 
happiness. 

The following day he pursued his journey to his un- 
cle’s residence, “The Oaks.” This old homestead was 
in what is known as the Lake district, but will not be 
so accurately described that you can find it. Those 
who know that garden of old England, will not care to 
have so poor a reminder of its wonderful beauty as any 
description would be, and those who do not know it 
can gain but a faint idea even through the words of its 
own poets. It is a miniature Switzerland — mountains, 
valleys, lakes, waterfalls, and dear old England for a 
background to them all. 

Young Mason’s restless spirit was soothed as mother 
Nature always soothes those who love her, so that by 
the close of that November day he was prepared to be 
pleased, to be happy and to make the best of every- 
thing. The idea that he was legally the heir to the 
beautiful park and house which he reached at sunset, 
had never entered his mind. He did not know whether 
his uncle was young or old, whether he might marry 
or not ; in truth his thoughts were so full of “ mother 
and Nettie ” that there was room for little else. 

His reception was all he could wish for. His uncle 
gave him a hearty welcome, and acted as if he had 
known him all his life. Mr. Podgson, immaculate in 
broadcloth and fine linen, adopted him at once, and as 
soon as they were beyond the Colonel’s power of hear- 
ing, he told him of the childhood and youth of his 
beautiful mother ; how he had waited upon her, and 
that the rooms to which he could not deny himself the 
pleasure of “ hintroducing ’im ” were those she “ lioccu- 


MRS. GREGORY. 


I I 


pied until she decided to reside in the Hamericas.” 
Her sudden flight with her artist husband was pru- 
dently omitted. 

The rooms looked out on Windermere. The sloping 
lawn did not quite reach the lake, although from the win- 
dow it appeared much nearer than it really was. The 
stately trees, true lords of England’s soil, cast long 
shadows on the velvet turf, and that peculiar repose of 
the intense greenness entered Henry’s soul. 

Then came to him a temporary pause in the life- 
struggle, and a wish that such rest and peace might 
last forever. This is a curious effect of that unbroken 
color, it seems to lead the mind to — is it to the “ green 
hill far away ? ” certainly to some vision of peace. 

He wondered why his mother left her home, why 
any one could leave a scene so beautiful, and then ac- 
cording to the way that life is planned, his reveries and 
the glamour to which he was yielding were brought to 
a sudden end by the summons to dinner. 

He joined his uncle, who led him to a small room, 
which he said he preferred to the large dining hall, 
and where what seemed to Henry a sumptuous meal 
was prepared for them. 

Dinner passed in peace. The uncle was good-nat- 
ured, the nephew bright and entertaining. He was fir- 
mer than quite suited the Colonel about the amount 
of wine he drank, “but that nonsense will soon wear 
off,” thought the old soldier, so he told his Indian 
stories and enjoyed them as he always did, and con- 
gratulated himself on having so intelligent a listener. 
Finally he made a proposition for the future, and it 
was exactly what his nephew wished, at least as far as 
he could see. He invited him to remain at “ The Oaks ” 
as long as he pleased, then promised to obtain a situa- 
tion for him on one of the Western railways “in the 


12 


MRS. GREGORY. 


States,” where he could work himself into independence. 
“ This will be your home, you know, my boy, and if I 
am too lonely without you I may ask you to give up 
your fortune-hunting and come back to me, but I dis- 
covered your independent spirit in your letters, and in 
fact, I have already made arrangements, and will give 
you a letter to a firm in Chicago whenever you wish to 
go. It is already written.” Nothing could be more 
delightful. There was present separation from Nettie, 
to be sure, but youth and hope bridged that over ; it 
would not be long, and this jolly old uncle was making 
up for his oddities with a rapidity that nearly took his 
nephew’s breath away. 

He ached in every limb from sitting three mortal 
hours at the table, but there was immense compensa- 
tion in having a future all planned for him, with a possi- 
ble sprinkling of gold-dust over it, for certainly his uncle 
had always been liberal and probably would continue 
to be. He expressed his gratitude, and so far every- 
thing had a very promising aspect. When his uncle 
rose from the table, he put his arm confidingly in his 
nephew’s, and the two disappeared behind the portiere. 
Of course I did not hear the conversation, but Mr. 
Podgson did, for he took a great interest in the “ hayer,” 
as he called him, and feared this exceeding calm might 
precede a storm, therefore he lingered near the cur- 
tains and was in consequence able to tell Mrs. Deems 
exactly what occurred. 

It was some hours after dinner when he entered the 
housekeeper’s room, making a peculiar sign by which 
she understood that he wished to see her alone. Mary 
was without ceremony sent on an errand. For once Mr. 
Podgson took no notice of the coquettish little twist 
and flirt of her gown as she passed him. He carefully 
closed the door. 


MRS. GREGORY, \ 


13 


“ Hit’s all hup ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ ‘Up,’ what’s up ? ” 

“ The truth is, Mrs. Deems, the Colonel and his nevvy 
'ave ’ad rather a stormy hinterview. I was hobliged to 
’ear, being only divided by curtains, as you know, which 
is not much protection. I don’t wonder at the Colonel 
being in a rage, so to speak, because Master Hennery 
was very trying, and I ’ave never found the Hinjies 
conducive to patient tempers.” 

“ For goodness sake do tell me whatever was the mat- 
ter ? ” 

“The Colonel was trying to make things cheerful, and 
telling ’im about the meet next week, when the boy up 
and refused to ride to ’ounds. He hactually said it was 
cruel, not, ’owever, till he was, so to speak, driven to 
bay.” 

“ I don’t wonder the Colonel was angry. A boy like 
that ! ‘ Cruel ’ indeed ! ” 

“ People differ, Mrs. Deems, people differ. I ’ave 
myself felt compassion for the poor ’unted fox. Not 
that I hadmire the sentiment in an Hinglish gentleman, 
but I’ll just tell you what I did once if you will con- 
sider it in strictest confidence.” 

“A pack of hounds won’t tare it from me.” 

“Once I went down to the lodge, to see the ’ounds go 
by. The gate was shut, the place was hunoccupied ; I 
had nothing to do, so I waited. Soon I ’eard them 
coming. The poor little fox rushed under the gate, and 
made one leap into my harms. I did not stop to think, 
but made a bound into the lodge. Fortunately I ’ad 
been hinside and the door was open. I locked it and 
took the key out, I put the poor trembling creature in 
one of the beds. Then I listened. I did not dare to 
go out for fear the scent would be habout me, and I’d 
know ’ow it felt to be torn to bits. The ’ounds came 


14 


MRS. GREGORY. 


to a stand, they and everybody yelling. Some dogs 
scrambled under the gate, some over the wall, but they 
lost the scent. There was no one to hopen the gate 
and a madder set of men and dogs I ’ope I may never 
see. At last they went off and I went to see the little 
fox. It’s ’eart was beating so when I took it in, that I 
thought it would burst, and it did, for when I went back 
it was dead. Died of fright I suppose. I believe I’d 
have died myself before I’d ’ave given it to those savage 
beasts.” 

“Your kindness does you credit, Mr. Podgson. I 
don’t know that I ever looked at the matter from the 
fox point of view before, but whatever did the Colonel 
do to the boy ? ” 

“ I think he would like to ’ave flogged ’im, but he 
was trying to be pleasant, so to speak ; ’owever he told 
’im, he was a mean-spirited poltroon, worthy of ’is low 
birth.” 

“ Good heavings ! ” 

“ He did, I hassure you. Then Master Hennery 
said ‘ that being your hopinion it will be best for me 
not to prolong my stay.’ ” 

“Did I ever! He was a brave one. Whatever did 
the Colonel say then ? ” 

“ I don’t know, for to tell the truth I left the room, 
not being willing to listen any longer.” 

Mr. Podgson at that point came so near to being dis- 
covered that he made a hasty retreat, and did not hear 
the Colonel’s reply, which was : “You can clear out as 
soon as you please.” 

“ Shall I still make use of your letter to the Chicago 
firm ?” One thought of Nettie enabled Henry to ask 
this. 

“Yes. This nonsense has no effect on your honesty, 

I suppose. I am not unjust. You will find employ- 


MRS. GREGORY. 


15 


ment, and here is one hundred pounds for your pas- 
sage and outfit, and unless I change my mind it’s the 
last I’ll give you,” 

“ Good-by, uncle, thank you for what you have 
done.” 

“ Good-by. Try and find some common-sense some- 
where. Here, Podgson, somebody order the dog- 
cart.” 


CHAPTER II. 


“ Nettie ! ” 

“ What, dear mamma ? ” 

“ Are you not ready to give up that embroidery ? 
You will not receive enough for it, my child, to pay for 
the eyesight.’' 

“ One moment, mamma.” 

Ten minutes passed, the worker rose and held her 
work out of the window, to catch the last rays of the 
fast departing twilight. 

“ Now, dear, I really cannot see another stitch.” 

“ Come beside me, my darling. My brave, precious 
child.” The invalid’s arms were held out, Nettie laid 
her head beside her mother, kissing her again and again, 
as the dear arms enfolded her. 

“ Oh my child ! my child ! ” 

“ What is wrong, dear mamma, are you feeling worse 
to-night ? ” 

“Not materially worse, my dear, but I must talk over 
our affairs once more. When will you see Henry again ?” 

“ To-morrow, mamma ; I can’t fancy what has brought 
him back so soon. He expected to stay the week with 
his uncle at least, and now he has telegraphed that he 
is going at once to the States, and is only coming to 
say good-by.” 

“ Then we can have a long talk to-day on our own 
affairs, for it is of no use to try to explain Henry’s re- 
turn. He is sure to do right, and will tell us to-mor- 
row. Are the children asleep ? ” 

“Yes, dear, long ago. Do begin, mamma; you make 


MRS. GREGORY. 1 7 

such ominous preparations, you frighten me. What is 
the matter ? ” 

“ Then listen, Nettie, and remember all I say. When 
your father died and after all debts were paid, we had 
one hundred and fifty pounds. We have lived with 
rigid economy. You have worked day and night. We 
have hoped against hope that we would hear from my 
sister, and that some means of relief would come.” 

“ Yes, mamma.” 

“I have heard to-day. She has been dead a year. 
Six months ago her daughter, two years older than, 
you, came to England to find me. She had only money 
enough to pay her passage. What has become of her, 
is the worst part of it.” 

“ Came to us six months ago ! Where can she be ?” 

“ I wish I knew. In that six months we have moved 
three times. If she went to our old home, supposing 
she had money to seek for us, she would get our ad- 
dress to Southampton, but evidently has not been able 
to trace us through the last three moves. Evidently 
she has not traced us. If we advertised, where would 
we begin ? ” 

“ Poor girl, where can she be ? ” 

“ I dread to imagine the horrible possibilities of her 
fate. The letter to-day is from the colonel of her 
father’s regiment. My sister and her husband both 
died of fever. The colonel made all the arrangements, 
and thought he was doing the best for the daughter by 
sending her to her aunt in England. Three years ago 
how gladly we would have received her ! ” 

“ How did the letter reach us ?” 

“ It has been wandering about for a long time, but 
has finally been delivered. I can see nothing that we 
can do about your cousin.” 

“ I will ask Henry to-morrow.” 


8 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ My dear child, what can he do ? I suspect there 
has been some trouble with his uncle, and probably 
Henry is sent off. Those Indian officers are hot- 
headed, and Henry is high-spirited, and may have been 
in too great haste about his future plans.” 

“ There is one comfort : Henry is sure to do right. 
You said so, mamma.” 

“ He is sure to intend to do so, but his life has not 
prepared him to understand just such a character as I 
fear he found in his uncle.” 

“I won’t look for trouble, mamma; Henry will find 
something to do in America. All the people there are 
rich. Then we will all go there and live.” 

“ Meanwhile ? ” and an unmistakable sigh accom- 
panied the question. 

“ Meanwhile you are to get well, and I am to sup- 
port you by sewing.” 

“ How much have you made this, month ? ” 

“One pound, eleven shillings.” 

“ My child, how far would that go toward the sup- 
port of four persons ? ” 

“ But our money, mamma ? ” 

“We have ten pounds left.” 

“ Mamma ! ! ” 

“Yesterday we had twenty. I paid five pounds to 
our landlady, and five pounds to Mr. Williams. I in- 
sisted on knowing whether he expected to do me any 
good, he was obliged to say he could not, I then 
thanked him for his kindness, paid his bill, and told 
him I would try to do without him. It is useless my 
dear, to have a physician. I must die.” 

“Mamma, mamma! ” and Nettie burst into tears. 

“ My dear, tears are a luxury in which you must not 
indulge ; your eyes are your only hope — you must not, 
Nettie.” 


MRS. GREGORY. 1 9 

The poor child with a great effort suppressed her 
sobsT 

“Now my child, you must look this matter directly 
in the face : we have no means to search for your cousin, 
and in a short time we will have no money left. After 
to-morrow we will give up our second room ; you will 
not need it when Henry has gone. I can see no far- 
ther than that. It is useless sentimentality to wish I 
were dead to relieve you of part of your care. Death 
and life are not in our hands ; I must struggle with 
you.” 

“ Mamma, may I tell everything to Henry?'* 

“ Use your own judgment, Nettie ; unless he can sug- 
gest some plan for us, it seems hard to add these 
troubles to his cares. Your sorrows weigh heavily on 
him, my child.” 

“ I will get ten shillings for the cap I am embroider- 
ing.” 

“ Every penny helps ; perhaps we can find something 
for the children to do.” 

“ Perhaps someone will let Willie run of errands, but 
Kate can only wait on you. The cap will be done to- 
morrow, then I have another one engaged.” 

Mrs. Stepney smiled lovingly on her daughter, whose 
spirits bounded up at the prospect of doing anything, 
and allowing her to talk herself into a hopeful mood 
the mother watched anxiously the beaming eyes. Pres- 
ently she said, “ I have had another letter to-day ; I will 
give it to you to read.” 

Nettie took it. “Oh, mamma, I do believe it’s from 
that tiresome old Cowell ; I hope he has sent you a pres- 
ent.” 

“ I could hardly accept it, if he had, and it is more 
probable that he asks one of me.” 

“We have nothing to give him ” 


20 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ ‘ My dear and honored madam. 5 He is civil, he 
must want something,” but her mother did not even 
smile. “ Read on, dear,” was the faint answer. 

“ ‘With much embarrassment, but with greater hope, 
I present myself a suppliant before you. Shall I first 
say why. I am, madam, an old man. I am without 
relatives, and with a considerable fortune.’ Much the 
best of the two,” laughed the reader. “ ‘ I am very 
lonely ’ — mamma I do believe he wants you to marry 
him — ‘ I want the sweet companionship of a wife.’ I 
told you so, mamma. 1 1 can offer her a home of lux- 
ury, a life of ease, the daily association with, shall I say 
it — a man of cultivation and refinement. In return for 
this, I simply ask that she be mine. I do not ask for 
love — that will come by degrees ; I know I can inspire 
it.’ Vain old fellow ; you shan’t have him, dear.” 

“ Oh, Nettie, my darling, go on.” 

“ ‘ I only ask that I may hold her in possession ; that 
I may have her beside me. See her daily, hourly — 
never have her absent from me. Have her for my 
treasured darling ; every wish shall be gratified, so that 
she be mine.” 

“ Mamma, is he insane ; who is the ‘ her ’ and the 
‘she ’ ?” 

“ You , Nettie.” 

“ I! ” 

“Yes, my child, read on.” 

“ Horrible ” — but with a much subdued tone the 
young girl continued. 

“ Besides these offers for herself, I also, my dear 
madam, offer you a home — your daughter’s home shall 
be yours. In addition, I will send the two little chil- 
dren to any school that you select, bearing gladly the 
expense of their education. I only ask the presence 
of your daughter to cheer my declining years. One 


MRS. GREGORY. 


21 


week I will wait, so that the length and breadth of my 
offer may be considered. You have seen my house 
and grounds. I have for several months had the ser- 
vices of a competent housekeeper, a maiden lady of 
mature years. Your daughter’s only care will be your 
comfort and mine. Will you unite your persuasions 
with my proposal, and be ready to receive me on the 
Tuesday of next week ? 

“ Prospectively your son, 

“ Edward G. Cowell.” 

At this closing sentence, Nettie, whose nervous sys- 
tem was worked up to its highest pitch, buried her face 
in her hands in a fit of hysterical laughing. 

Mrs. Stepney waited, and at last said : "Well, Nettie, 
what do you think ? ” 

“ I think he is an old goose ; be his, indeed ! I’d 
rather beg, I’d rather starve. How Henry will laugh 
over it ! ” 

“ Now, Nettie, I am too tired to talk any longer ; if 
you will read our chapter my darling, we will go to 
bed.” 

“ Yes, mamma ; shall I set fire to this precious docu- 
ment ? ” 

“ No, my dear, by no means ; you said you would 
show it to Henry.” 

Nettie crumpled it in her hand, and thrust it into her 
pocket, with a movement of vexation, then striving to 
be calm, began to read. She chose the twenty-third 
Psalm, because it was short, and my heroine’s mind 
was not in tune with holy things, but the “ green pas- 
tures and still waters” had the usual effect. Whether 
from the beauty of the language, whether from the 
contrast of the picture to the rough ways of most lives, 
or whether actual spiritual influence is inborne to the 


22 


MRS. GREGORY. 


weary soul, has never been decided, but certain it is 
that they had the effect that they produce on all who 
believe there is a hand that directs, and that in His 
own good time He will lead the trusting one to peace 
and rest. Even Nettie put aside the picture that had 
so shocked her, and kissing the dear face, on which 
new care had left a shadow, she performed the last 
duties of the night. A few moments only she gazed at 
the starry letters in the sky, which Henry had taught 
her to read, and then lay down beside her mother. 

Long vigil did the mother keep that night. She re- 
viewed her own married life, in which straightened cir- 
cumstances had been the only sorrow until death took 
from her the loving husband and father, leaving her 
with Nettie and two little children. The little money 
he left for them was lost by the failure of a bank. 
What was realized by the sale of all they had owned, 
with their own work had supported them. Mrs. Step- 
ney sewed, and taught, and wrote, until obliged to 
yield to increasing illness. The medical men called it 
“depression of the heart.” She now rarely left her 
bed. Nettie bravely performed every duty. Took 
care of her mother, of the two children, and strove to 
add something to the little stock of money by sewing. 
The children were Willy, a bright boy of eight years, 
and Kate, a darling baby of six. They could do nothing 
toward adding to the means of support. No wonder 
the outlook was dark to the mother. Much as she 
loved Henry, she found herself wishing that he was not 
the obstacle that prevented Nettie from accepting the 
offers of the rich widower who had been their neisrh- 
bor before they removed to London. He had admired 
Nettie, had obtained an introduction to her, the chil- 
dren had played in his grounds, but Nettie would not 
notice him, and she remembered the children also dis- 


MRS. GREGORY. 23 

liked him. “ He is only eccentric,” Mrs. Stepney said 
to herself, “ his letter is all that a letter could be.” 

Then came the memory again of the love that made 
her married life such a joy. How could she wish Net- 
tie to marry without love ! It was a hard struggle. It 
was not hard to die, but it was hard to leave three chil- 
dren without a protector. The green pastures did not 
help her then. 

All night the soft breathing of the young girl by her 
side was wringing her heart. Oh, why were these three 
helpless children in this heartless world ? Who could tell 
her their future ? Faith was as dim as the night-lamp. 
That little flickering thing was only bright enough, as 
she raised herself on one elbow, to enable her to see 
the sleeping girl. The mother needed but little light 
to show her each feature chiselled as by an artist ; to see 
the beautiful face, that daily beamed with brightness 
and with tenderest affections. She shuddered. Mr. 
Cowell was nearly eighty. She tried to imagine her- 
self in the same position. Mr. Cowell or starvation. 
Yes — for herself she infinitely preferred starvation, but 
her child had never known a husband’s love, and there 
were worse horrors and deaths than starvation. Of 
course Nettie loved Henry, but she was young. Mrs. 
Stepney did not consider Henry then, and perhaps his 
uncle after all might make it all right — then she fell 
asleep. 


CHAPTER III. 


Nettie was very grave in the morning. On that day 
she knew she must part from Henry ; this alone was 
enough to take the color from her cheek. Besides this 
separation, her mother’s increasing illness, with the 
problem how to provide her with comforts, and to sup- 
port the children, pressed heavily on the young heart. 
The disappointment about her aunt, and the disappear- 
ance of her cousin were additional causes of anxiety. 
Is it wonder that the brow was clouded, and that the 
bright sunshine failed to warm or cheer ? The offer of 
Mr. Cowell’s heart and home was dismissed as too ut- 
terly preposterous to be for a moment thought of ; the 
other cares were heavy enough for the day’s burden. 
Mrs. Stepney was too weary to talk, the children went 
to school, and Nettie performed her usual duties in a 
sort of dream. After the rooms were in order, the em- 
broidery was resumed, until the hour when she ex- 
pected her lover. He came. 

“ My own precious Nettie !” brought color and bright- 
ness back again, for love illumines past, present, and 
future. “ Listen a moment, Nettie, for I sail this even- 
ing, and I must tell you first why I am here. The Col- 
onel and I did not agree ; he spoke insolently of my 
father, and I could not remain with him. I think he at 
first intended to be kind, but we did not hit it off, and I 
decided to goat once ; a steamer sails to night from Liv- 
erpool — I have only a few hours for you, my darling.” 

“ But, dear Henry, what are you going to do ? ” asked 
Nettie. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


25 


“ I am going to New York, then to Chicago, where I 
am to have a railway situation. I do not know what, 
only that the salary will be small, and that from this 
day I am to have no more from my uncle. I am to 
work, and I am glad to do so. It will be for you, Net- 
tie, and for mother. Now tell me exactly how you ex- 
pect to live. You have been a little vague lately about 
your own affairs. I must know everything. If there is 
any trouble tell me.” 

“Any trouble,” Nettie repeated the words to herself, 
as she hesitated to begin the overwhelming history of 
their helplessness. 

“ Dear Nettie, tell me,” pleaded her lover. 

It did not take long to give the wretched details, or 
to prove that in a few weeks the petty support of those 
hands held in his, would be all the family could depend 
upon. For a moment he could not speak ; the one word 
— starvation — seemed written in fiery letters wherever 
he looked. Mrs. Stepney had impressed upon Nettie 
the necessity of telling Henry everything. Nettie sup- 
posed this was for his advice, for young as he was, he 
had a grave way of considering difficulties, and an ad- 
mirable judgment in their adjustment. Many times he 
was the only adviser of these two lonely women. 

“Mamma would not tell me,” said Nettie, “until 
she found there was nothing to hope from her sister. 
This is why I only now know all this.” 

The speaker was folded in agony in the strong arms. 
“Oh, my darling, my own birdie !” 

“ Dear Henry, I surely can make a support. I will 
receive ten shillings for a cap to-day.” 

“ How long have you been working on it ? ” 

“About five days — you know I have very little time.” 

“ If you make one cap every five days, and work on 
Sundays, and the demand never fails, and your eye- 


2 6 


MRS . GREGORY. 


sight remains perfect, you can make seventy-three caps 
in a year, for which you will receive something over 
thirty pounds, on which board, lodging, fuel, and 
clothes are to be provided for four persons ! ” 

“ Yes, so I can, but you see I doubt if I will have 
another order ; then I must go to plain sewing, for 
which I will not receive as much.” 

“Nettie — don’t you see that it is impossible? You 
cannot do this, and it may be years before I can make 
enough for us all ! ” 

But Nettie felt the present parting to be a deeper 
sorrow. She did not realize the position in which she 
was placed ; she felt that if he were not going to leave 
her, she might work day and night. 

As soon as he could control his voice to speak again 
he said : “You do not realize what you undertake — I 
would have been no better able to help if I had not had 
this break with the Colonel ; I am glad now that not a 
moment will be lost. Every day is important to me. If 
your mother could be moved, I would say come with 
me.” 

“ Oh, no, Henry, you shall have no burden like that.” 

“ I will not take our time to talk about what is im- 
possible. The first moment that I can be sure of even 
a poor support you will be safe under my care, I will 
persuade you even to risk that removal.” 

“You do not know how much worse mamma is — so 
much happened yesterday. That letter from India, 
and, oh, I forgot another perfectly absurd one that 
mamma said I must show to you.” 

She handed the crumpled ball to Henry, who, after 
some trouble in smoothing it out, read the plain busi- 
ness-like offer of the octogenarian. As he read he 
shuddered, and drew her closer to himself ; then he 
threw the letter across the room. 


MRS. GREGORY. 2*J 

“What do you think of that !” she said, trying to 
smile. 

“ Did your mother wish me to read it ? ” he asked 
with a trembling voice. 

“ I was going to destroy it, when she said ‘ I thought 
you were going to tell Henry everything,’ so I kept it.” 

“ Don’t destroy it. It must be answered ; the man is 
civil and in earnest. I believe he is a good old fellow, 
said to be niggardly in the extreme, but this is gener- 
ous enough ” 

“ Don’t waste time over that stupid nonsense. It is 
easy enough to answer. Tell me how soon I will hear 
from you ? ” 

“ I will write as soon as I land in New York, from 
there I am to go directly to Chicago. The Colonel 
made all arrangements handsomely. Fie evidently 
likes to give orders. I fear the salary will not amount 
to much, but the appointment will give me the oppor- 
tunity to look about me, and perhaps in a year, my 
darling, I may be able to send for you. It is a long 
time for you to fight life’s battle ” 

“ Don’t be anxious about me. I will support all of 
them somehow. Then you know, Henry, our Father 
looks after poor people. Ask Him to help me.” 
Henry’s answer was not in faith. He knew the tribu- 
lation meted out for the world, and knew that the good 
suffered. Like others who are mystified at this, he put 
aside the why of it for the revelations of a future life, 
and thought more of what he could and could not do 
than of the care of the All-Wise. Much is promised to 
faith. Nettie’s was that of the early teachings of her 
father ; it was not practical. The mother’s faith had al- 
most been lost in the darkness of her sorrow ; and 
Henry’s — his could not be expressed even by the 
usual forms ; it was hardly a hope. 


28 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ Wait for me here, Nettie ; I must go and say good- 
by to mother.” 

Nettie pouted, and said she would not be shut out, 
but something she had never seen before was on her 
lovers face, and she let him close the door without re- 
monstrance. 

“Mother,” whispered the young man, “you know 
how I love Nettie ; I need not go over the story ; you 
know I go to work for her, but she has told me all ; 
when you are gone she has no protector ; I may not be 
able to send or come for her for a long time ; do you 
see any future for her?” 

“ None, my boy ” 

“ Had you any motive in wishing me to read that 
letter ? ” 

“ I had.” 

“ Oh, how can I say what you wish ; how can I give 
up my hope ! ” 

“ Henry you are my choice for my child — but how 
can I die and leave her here alone ? It may be years 
before you are able to provide for her, and during those 
years I shudder to think of her position. I am singu- 
larly destitute of relatives ; positively there is no one to 
whom I can commit her. The little ones may be pro- 
vided for in an orphan asylum — oh, my dear boy, can 
you imagine the agonies of a mother’s heart ? I dare 
not rebel against my sufferings, but my first ray of light 
is this letter.” 

Mrs. Stepney closed her eyes as she spoke, for the 
expression of mortal agony on the young face before 
her was too much to bear. He had come hopefully, 
not for a moment dreaming of this depth of poverty. 
It had been morning in his soul when he came — he felt 
that he would go in a darkness blacker than any night 
he had yet known. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


29 


“ Mother — let me say it once more — you have been 
so good to me, I have loved you so — I who might have 
known no home but a school, have had my home with 

you — Mother / ” and his voice expressed a woe it 

was hard to endure “ Mother — I will never lose sight 

of Nettie ; if the time ever comes that I can claim her, I 
will do so, meanwhile I will leave her —free ” 

“ God reward you, my boy.” 

There were but few more words. Henry returned to 
Nettie, but his face was devoid of a particle of color ; 
his very lips white, his eyes alone retained a look of life, 
and they shone with unnatural brilliancy. 

“I have said good-by to mother. Now, Nettie, my 
precious one, my darling — ” and she was folded in his 
arms — “ Have you any doubt of my love ?” 

“None,” said Nettie, wonderingly. 

“ Do you know I would die for you ?” 

“ I hope you will not.” 

“ Oh, don’t speak lightly. I am hovering over a pit 
of darkness — tell me, tell me, do you believe I would 
die for you ? ” 

“ Yes, Henry, I think you would.” 

“Say you are sure.” 

More bewildered and amazed than ever, Nettie said, 
“ I am sure you would.” 

“ Do you know that every thought, every hope of the 
future is yours ? That I go for your sake, that I will 
work for your sake, that I will return even if I am a 
gray-haired man, if I cannot come before that, to claim 
you ? ” 

“ But, dear Henry ” 

“ My child, my darling, listen. Do you know all this ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, I do — what do you mean ?” 

“ Then put your dear arms tight around me and kiss 
me. Oh, Nettie, Nettie ! ” 


30 


MRS. GREGORY. 


Then he released her. 

“ Nettie, we must part entirely now. I will not take 
your promise across the ocean with me. You are free. 
Not free from my love, not free from my care. I shall 
know whatever befalls you, but utterly free from your 
promise." 

“ But, Henry, I refuse. I will not be released." 

“ You cannot help it, my Nettie. I refuse to take your 
promise. I free you." 

“ What does it mean ? The world will indeed be 
lonely now." 

“It is that you may not be alone that I leave you 
free." 

She now in her turn lost every particle of color. “ You 
must speak more plainly, Henry," she said. 

“ Do you know what it is for a young girl to be alone 
in the world, without money or friends ? Do you know 
to what dangers she may be exposed ?" 

• “ I do not see what can touch me. I am strong and 
able to work. I know I can support mamma and the 
children. If I fail — are there not asylums where the 
little ones could go for a while ? " 

Henry’s ideas of asylums were vague ; he knew 
something of “ red tape," and that the most needy 
were not always those who were received in the be- 
nevolent institutions; this gave him no relief. “You 
cannot support them, Nettie. You are liable to ill- 
ness, to accident, to anything. Your mother says 
she has no claim on anyone. You have made al- 
ready so many changes that even the interest of 
friends cannot be yours. Mother is very ill ; soon 
she will need your constant care ; then how will you 
sew ? " 

“ We will not be deserted. I am Christian enough 
for that. Some way of escape will come." 


MRS. GREGORY. 3 1 

“ Some ‘way has come. The relief has been offered 
you.” 

“ What can you mean ? ” 

“You gave me the letter.” 

“ Good heavens ! You propose to me to accept that ! 
You! You! Is this your love ? ” 

Henry had risen, but now he trembled so that he 
could no longer stand ; he threw himself on the sofa 
and buried his face in the cushion. 

“ Yes, this is my love !” 

Nettie saw then the terrible conflict ; saw then the 
agony of the young heart, but even then she knew the 
sacrifice she was called upon to make was greater. She 
was right, for she was a woman. 

“ Henry,” she whispered, kneeling beside him, “ I 
cannot marry that man.” 

“ You need not tell me that you will. You can wait 
and think. Only, my darling, I leave you free to gain 
a home and a protection. If you think it is harder for 
you than for me, it is not. I tell you it is my love that 
gives me strength to do this. Never doubt it. What- 
ever lies in the future, one thing is certain for you. 
My heart will never change, and there will be a future 
in sotne world that we will pass together. Now I must 
go. I will write from Liverpool. My precious one ! 
My Nettie ” 

He was gone. 

Faint, dizzy, and stunned, Nettie was alone, kneeling 
on the floor, her arms wildly holding the pillow on 
which Henry’s head had rested. Two hours she re- 
mained there. Her mother listened with intensest 
anguish ; she would not call her. She could not rise. 
Oh ! what was her child bearing alone? The children 
came in. 

“ Why, Nettie ! ” exclaimed Will. 


32 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ Nettie is tayin’ her payers,” said Kate’s little voice. 
Then the sister rose. “ No, children, I was crying 
because Henry has gone away,” she said, simply. 

“ Where has he gone to ? ” asked Will. 

“ Gone to America.” 

“ Oh, why didn’t he take us ?” 

“ He will send for you some day when you are 
older.” 

“ I’m torry Henry has goed,” lisped Kate. 

" Come here, children,” called their mother. 

Then life began again. 


CHAPTER IV. 


“ Mamma, to-morrow is quarter day, and my teacher 
says we must have new pellin books, and here is the 
paper to pay,” said Kate, climbing upon the bed beside 
her mother, while Willy at the same time presented a 
similar bill from his teacher. 

“Yes, dear children ; but I am going to give you a 
holiday now ; Nettie,” as pale as marble the young girl 
entered, “ will you go this afternoon and tell both of 
the teachers that the children will be obliged to give 
up school now ? ” 

Nettie gave her mother a glance of hopeless distress ; 
then with a simple, “ Yes, mamma,” began the prepara- 
tions for the mid-day meal. 

She stopped suddenly, and went to her bedside. 

“ My dearest mamma, I have neglected you for a long 
time, forgive me, what shall I do for you ?” 

The dear arms were around her. “ Nothing, my 
daughter, the less the better. I only desire to live that 
I may protect you.” 

Nettie made no answer ; it was very hard for her to 
speak ; the children fortunately filled all pauses with 
their merry play, and expressions of delight at their 
holiday. 

While the dinner was being warmed, Nettie bent over 
her embroidery ; there were no tears now ; her eyes were 
hard and dry, and her hand was burning with fever. 
She finished the flower upon the cap, then carried her 
work to her mother for approval. 

3 


34 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ It is very beautiful, my child ; you had better take 
it when you go about the schools.!’ 

“Yes, mamma. Now dinner is ready, let me help 
you to sit up a little.” 

The pillows were placed so that the invalid could eat 
more comfortably, while the always hungry little ones 
dragged their chairs to the table and explained that 
they were “ very ready.” They only of the quartette 
seemed to be ready at all, the mother made a poor feint 
of eating, and Nettie did not attempt it. 

“ I will direct them how to clear the table ; you had 
better go at once.” 

“ Yes, mamma,” said Nettie, in the same hapless 
tone. Kate looked up. 

“ Sister, why don’t you laugh, you always laugh ; 
don’t look so, it makes me ky.” 

“ Don’t be a baby, Kate,” said her brother; “Nettie 
can’t laugh, when Henry has gone away.” 

“Yes,” Nettie thought, “I could have laughed, and 
amused them if Henry had gone as I thought he would 
go : full of hope.” 

She put on her bonnet, and went on her errands. 
While she was gone a box arrived ; it was directed to 
Mrs. Stepney, and opened with much delight by the 
children. 

“ Why, mamma, it’s full to the top with flowers, all 
packed in little divisions. Oh, how lovely they are, 
here is a card ” 

The mother read, “ With the compliments of E. G. 
Cowell.” 

“ Poor Nettie,” she involuntarily exclaimed. 

“Why, mamma?” asked Will, who heard everything. 

“ Nettie has too much to do, and a great deal that 
she does not like,” she replied with rigid truth. Will 
looked puzzled, and being a young gentleman of a very 


MRS. GREGORY. 35 

thoughtful turn of mind said, “ She will like these 
flowers ; I don’t see what made you think of it.” 

“No matter now, my boy ; take down the vases, and 
see if you and Kate can arrange them to look lovely 
for Nettie when she returns.” This kept the children 
amused and interested until the return of their sister ; 
then, as they expected, her weary look gave place to an 
exclamation of admiration at the superb display.” 

“ Oh, mamma, how lovely ! From whom did they 
come ?” 

“ From Mr. Edward Cowell.” 

Not another word was spoken. 

“ Did you receive the cap-money ? ” 

“Yes, mamma, ten shillings ; I wish it were ten 
pounds. I am to make another one immediately. I 
arranged about the school ; it is well we paid in ad- 
vance.” 

“ Yes, indeed, a bill now would indeed be a misfor- 
tune. You may go outside and play, children ; ” but 
Nettie did not seem disposed to talk. She began her 
second cap, working with more industry than ever. 

“ How long does one cap take you, dear ? ” 

“ The last took five days. I must make this one in 
three.” Perfect quiet reigned. Mrs. Stepney was not 
a troublesome invalid, but, oh, how she longed to bear 
part of her child’s burden. 

“ Nettie ! ” 

“ Not to day, dear mother ; we have never kept any- 
thing from each other, we never will, but not to-day.” 

Then the mother knew the time would come when 
she could help her child. The next morning brought a 
letter from Henry — a few lines just before sailing. Net- 
tie did not read them to her mother then, but some 
time afterward she showed her what the poor boy wrote. 
“Nettie — Nettie — my darling, my precious child, re- 


36 


MRS. GREGORY. 


member all I told you. Naught but death can finally 
separate us, and even that will only be for a time. The 
present path looks dark, but I am sure of the ending. 
We sail in an hour, oh, my own precious one ! 

“ My next letter will be to your mother ; you know 
why, my darling.” Yes, Nettie knew why, and when on 
the following day another ring at the door brought a box 
of carefully packed fruit to her mother, she shuddered. 
The children were enchanted, and were suffered to take 
what they would, for Nettie said she did not like the 
kinds of grapes, oranges, pineapples, and bananas that 
the box contained. 

“ Why, there is every kind here,” said Willy, helping 
Kate to peel an orange. “ I like peaches and nectar- 
ines better,” explained Nettie. “You must take some 
down to Mrs. Morrison, the landlady.” Both children 
loaded themselves with the treasures, while Nettie pre- 
pared a pine for her mother. 

“ He certainly is a most generous man,” said Mrs. 
Stepney. 

“ I feel as if he were a cuttle fish,” was the astonishing 
rejoinder. 

“ My dear child ! ” exclaimed her mother, but Nettie 
said no more, she had thrown away the last vestige of 
the flowers, and was much pleased with the rapid dis- 
appearance of the fruit. 

The next day, as if her fancy had been consulted, the 
finest of hot-house peaches, and nectarines came. 

“Now, Nettie, here they are ; that old fellow is a brick; 
do take one,” said Will. 

“ No, I am too busy.” 

“ Sister Nettie is having a fast day,” explained Kate. 
“ She’s having ever so many.” 

“ She certainly is, she hasn’t eaten a regular dinner 
for ever so long,” said Will. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


37 


Nettie pretended not to hear ; her fingers were fly- 
ing. “ It will be done to-morrow,” she said, “then an- 
other ten shillings, and if I get another order, we shall 
be quite rich, mamma.” 

“ Yes, dear. Don’t stoop, Nettie, hold your work up 
to your eyes. Willy, my boy, bring me another peach. 
How refreshing they are. Nettie, these gifts ought 
to be acknowledged.” 

“ I wish they could be returned.” 

“ That is impossible ; they would be spoiled ; only 
this packing, which the gardener evidently understands, 
saves the bruising of the journey.” 

“ Mamma,” remarked Kate, “Mr. Cowell didn’t use 
to be a bit kind" about giving us anything when we 
went to play in his garden.” 

“Absence of motive,” said Nettie. 

“ What do you mean, sister ? ” 

“ I can’t talk, I’m too busy.” 

** Hand me the blotting-book Will ; I will try to 
write,” said the mother. In a few words Mrs. Stepney 
thanked Mr. Cowell for the fruit, and acknowledged 
the receipt of his letter, excusing her few words by her 
illness. Will and Kate were dispatched with the note 
to the post. 

Not a word was exchanged between the mother and 
daughter ; Nettie’s needle flew. 

The next day brought flowers again, which Nettie 
refused to touch. The afternoon saw the cap finished. 
She hastened to take it. 

“As I promised ten shillings for it, I will give it to 
you,” said the lady, coldly, “ but if you can embroider 
so rapidly, it is too much. I will take another, but 
will only pay five.” 

“I cannot make one for five,” said Nettie ; “I have 
only done this one so quickly by doing very little else.” 


33 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“Just as you please,” said the lady, and Nettie bade 
her good morning. 

“What success my darling?” asked her mother — 
she told her. 

“ Let it go — have you other work engaged ?” 

“ No, mamma ; I stopped at the shops, but no one 
wants anything ” 

“ We must live day by day, my child ; did you ar- 
range about giving up the room ? ” 

Mrs. Stepney was distressed at her daughter’s rigid 
face ; she looked as if she had neither friend nor hope. 

“ If you can spare me, mamma, I will go out for a 
little.” 

Her mother was surprised, but something new in 
Nettie’s manner prevented her from asking where she 
was going. 

“ I will not be long, dear,” she said, as she left the 
room. 

Nettie’s errand was to obtain work. She procured 
some plain sewing, which was to be finished in an in- 
credibly short time, and with surpassing neatness. 

Nettie promised everything. She would have un- 
dertaken to build a cathedral, just as readily. The 
shopkeeper was surprised at her willingness to take 
the small sum offered, but Nettie had hardly heard it. 
It was work — work ; and work of course brought 
money, and money she must have at all hazards. She 
hastened home ; their few possessions from the little 
sitting-room were removed into the bedroom ; it looked 
crowded and uncomfortable ; Nettie did not notice it ; 
she looked neither to the right nor the left, but walked 
straight to the window, and began to sew. 

“My dear Nettie,” exclaimed her mother, “I’m so 
glad you have work. I can help you with it ; give me 
that sleeve and my basket.” 


MRS. GREGORY. 39 

“Yes, mamma,” she replied, without a change of 
countenance or tone, but handed what was required. 

“ I have no time to speak ; this must be done to-mor- 
row evening.” 

“ All that ! And for what ?” 

Nettie named the sum. 

“ My child, that is preposterous, a servant would 
gain more.” 

There was no answer ; the needle was doing its work 
like a machine. Mrs. Stepney said no more, but with 
her poor, feeble hands tried to help. 

Nettie never looked up ; hour after hour passed ; 
presently the children came in from play, clamorous 
for dinner. 

“ Oh, Nettie, look at mamma,” cried Willy ; his sister 
started up ; her mother had fainted. 

Heart-stricken at her neglect, she strove to resusci- 
tate her ; Willy, of his own accord, ran for the landlady. 
She came to Nettie’s help, and after some time Mrs. 
Stepney was trying to reassure her children with a 
smile. “ Poor lady,” said Mrs. Morrison. “ She ought 
never to try to sew.” 

“ No,” whispered the invalid ; “ I believe my sewing 
days are over.” 

“ We’ve had no dinner ” said Willy. 

“ I’ll get it now, children,” replied Nettie ; “ I had to 
finish some work in a hurry,” she explained, “and 
thought of nothing else.” Mrs. Morrison did not ex- 
press her opinion of what seemed to her great neglect, 
but hastened to bring up some soup to Mrs. Stepney, 
who needed a restorative, while Nettie set some re- 
mains of chicken before the children, with bread and 
butter. 

“ Dis is a bad dinner,” said Kate. 

“You always want puddings.” 


40 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“Ess, puddin’ and pertaters.” 

“Try and not want them to-day,” said Nettie, in a 
constrained tone ; “ I must sew.” 

“Nettie,” said her mother, “eat something.” 

“ Not now, mamma ; I cannot eat.” 

Mrs. Morrison soon came up, and Mrs. Stepney 
was refreshed by the warm soup. She took it as she 
would a medicine, not daring to give up to the weak- 
ness. She could not leave her children. 

“Mamma, please speak to me if you feel faint and 
ill ; you are my first care, but I must not raise my eyes 
unless it is necessary.” 

“Yes, my daughter ; I will not faint again.” 

The children climbed up on the bed, and “ took 
care of mamma,” according to their lights. If they 
tired her a little, it was better than letting Nettie be 
called off. The hour came for tea. They had early 
dinner for the children, and tea at seven. 

“ Nettie ! — Nettie ! ” 

“ Oh, yes ; did you speak, mamma ? ” 

“Yes, dear ; stop a few moments and make -us some 
tea ; you will kill yourself if you work so constantly — 
do dear.” 

Nettie obeyed mechanically. 

“ I believe sister is kazy,” said Kate, who had been 
gravely contemplating her for some time. 

“ She is very busy,” said her mother with a ghost of 
a laugh. “ She has to finish some work.” 

“ Ess, but she used to sing and work.” 

Nettie turned her set face. “ I did once,” she said. 


CHAPTER V. 


The two weeks of Mr. Cowell’s probation were draw- 
ing to a close. Mrs. Stepney’s distress and anxiety 
were fast depriving her of the little strength left. 
Nettie worked unceasingly during every hour of day- 
light, excepting when she was obliged to go out. 
After one week she became convinced that she could 
not support the family by this means. 

She then persuaded her mother to allow her to ad- 
vertise for a place for work by the day, the landlady 
promising, for a small consideration, to give the chil- 
dren their dinner, and to attend to the invalid. 

Mrs. Stepney insisted on one condition, and that 
was, that she should read the answers to the advertise- 
ments before her daughter looked at them. 

There were nine answers. Two of them only were 
worth consideration ; the others were burned. One of 
them was for a shop girl ; the other for a milliner’s ap- 
prentice. Nettie answered them. Neither one offered 
sufficient pay to give them the barest support. 

Mrs. Stepney wrote a note privately to Mr. Cowell, 
asking for two more weeks. The answer was a great 
relief to her ; he was obliged to go to Scotland on busi- 
ness, and would defer his visit until his return ; perhaps 
it would be three weeks. 

When three weeks were past, Nettie made a calcula- 
tion, and looked unflinchingly at her position. Their 
expenses, including fire, food, lights, and rent, leaving 
out contingencies and additions to their wardrobes, 


42 


MRS. GREGORY. 


making no provision for any extra expense in caring 
for her mother, with two small rooms and no sitting- 
room, could not be less than eight pounds a month. 

She could not continue to live on as little food as she 
had recently allowed herself. She knew that her 
mother was practicing the same self-denial. Three 
weeks were gone. 

The money now remaining, with her work, would 
support them for two or three months, provided her 
mother remained just as she then was. It was useless 
to contend. 

No wonderful help came to them. Life just went 
on. The sun shone, oh, so heartlessly, Nettie thought. 
She was growing weary. Her eyes were losing their 
light, her voice had a tear in it, her step was heavy. 
The children were becoming restless, and growing pale. 
Winter was coming. 

The dear, precious mother, made no complaint ; if 
she were weary of lying in such weakness, if she wanted 
better nourishment, if the crowded room made it harder 
to breathe, she did not say so. She only followed 
Nettie with her eyes as she moved around, or bent 
over that everlasting sewing. 

The fourth week of Henry’s absence had begun. 
There would be a letter from him soon. It was pre- 
ceded by one from Mr. Cowell. He would come for 
his answer on the Wednesday, the first week of Janu- 
ary. He endorsed his promises as stated in his first 
letter. 

That was all. Nettie looked for that much-abused 
document. 

She, too, smoothed it out, and read of what was prom- 
ised for her mother, and for the children. 

That night she refused to read a chapter as usual, 
and no prayer went from the heart that saw no loving 


MRS. GREGORY. 


43 


hand. The next day she was penitent, and asked for- 
giveness from Him whose ways she only failed to un- 
derstand. “ I shall go mad if I cannot hope in God,*’ 
she said to herself. That day she could not sew. She 
went out, and was glad of a drizzling rain, and the bare 
and sad-looking trees. “ Anything but that pitiless 
light,” she thought. Then came the knowledge to 
her, that if she became the wife of another man, there 
would be sin in letting Henry’s image forever rise be- 
fore her. “ I cannot take him from my heart,” she 
cried, “ but I will not look there. The stone there will 
never let him rise.” Then she thought of a stone at 
a sepulchre that was rolled away for the suffering 
world. “ Ah, no angel comes to me,” she thought. “It 
will be night for me till that stone is taken from my 
heart.” The fancy of the stone too heavy to lift, took 
possession of her. 

“ I must not even try,” she said. Then she read 
Henry’s last two letters until each word was burned 
upon her brain. She folded them as small as possible, 
and tried to put them in a locket that she wore. To 
do so, she was obliged to tear off the margins — all but 
the actual writing ; then she succeeded. She closed 
the locket. The little snap sounded to her as loud as 
a pistol shot. In fact she felt as if it destroyed hope 
and happiness. “ It will never be opened again,” she 
said. She had been wandering in one of those dreary 
smoky little parks by which London supplies to its 
suburbs a modicum of fresher air for those who have 
time to breathe it, and gives miserable children a 
glimpse of grass and trees. There was nothing cheering. 
The rain only drizzled in a weak, uninspiriting way. 

She could bear it no longer. It was better to go 
home and prepare a good supper for her mother and 
the children. “ I can only live for them ; this is my 


44 


MRS. GREGORY. 


last reverie.” It was Tuesday of the first week of 1859. 
“ The Wednesday” came. The dreaded visit was pre- 
ceded by the too frequent gifts of fruit and flowers. 
The sitting-room not being rented, a fire was lighted 
there, but not a word was spoken in reference to what 
might be. Nettie’s face was flushed, her eyes were 
bright ; she looked more lovely than ever, although she 
wore her oldest and least becoming gown. 

“You look horrid,” was Will’s comment. “I hate 
that brown thing.” 

“ I love it,” said Nettie. 

Presently the bell rang ; some one entered the next 
room, a card was brought. “ Mamma,” said Nettie, 
“Mr. E. G. Cowell has called. I will see him.” 

What passed between them no one knew, excepting 
that Nettie promised to be his wife in three months 
from that day, unless she received a summons from an 
old friend to leave the country. She refused to give 
any explanation, and candidly acknowledged that she 
was yielding to a necessity in accepting Mr. Cowell’s 
offer, but promised to try to be happy, and even suc- 
ceeded in thanking him for his generous gifts and 
promises for hef mother and the children. 

Fortunately he had the sense not to offer any lover- 
like attentions, so that Nettie felt as if the matter were 
a business affair. 

The school was talked of ; he showed her the pros- 
pectus of the one to which he proposed to send the 
children, and asked if they could go within a week. 
This, he thought, would make the matter certain. Net- 
tie consented, without thinking how it bound her. 
He would see her once a week, he said, and send the 
housekeeper to take the children to the school. 

“ The housekeeper, a very experienced person, will 
also take charge of your mother’s comfort after our 


MRS. GREGORY. 


45 


marriage, as necessarily you will be unable to devote 
yourself exclusively to the invalid.” Nettie bowed. 
“ Good-by, my dear,” finally said the old gentleman. 
“ I do not despair of gaining your affections.” He only 
shook hands with her, and paying no attention to her 
stony expression, bowed himself off. 

Nettie made no preparations, nor would she discuss 
the subject. 

After a letter was received by her mother from 
Henry, she prepared the children for their school, and 
with her mother cried for days. Henry’s letter told 
of his safe arrival, of his journey to Chicago, of his 
immediate employment, of the exceedingly small 
salary of the first year. It was a letter of statements. 
Not a word of love, of hope, of anything but his wish 
to hear whatever Mrs. Stepney felt able to write. 

Nettie’s heart turned cold as she read it. “ Buried,” 
she said to herself. 

Three months passed. Tt was April. The day came 
for the marriage. It was solemnized in a small chapel 
near their lodgings. The housekeeper, Miss Jones, 
came with Mr. Cowell. She was tall, with a good 
figure. The lower part of her face looked fresh and 
young ; the upper half was hidden by a green shade, 
which she wore over her “poor, weak eyes.” 

She had abundant hair, which was twisted up accord- 
ing to a long-past fashion. 

Her dress was plain in the extreme. She had a 
squeaky voice with a break in it. Altogether she was 
a very odd person. By some mystery, Mrs. Stepney 
fancied her, and was willing to remain under her care 
while Nettie went with her husband to her Hampshire 
home. Mrs. Stepney and her children having lived for 
a few months near Mr. Cowell, Nettie was familiar with 
the surroundings, though she had never entered the 


4 6 


MRS. GREGORY. 


grounds. They were extensive and well kept, a large 
portion being devoted to flowers, as the freshly planted 
beds indicated, as well as the well-filled green and hot- 
houses. The house was pleasant enough, but the sun- 
shine was carefully excluded, the furniture covered with 
holland, the pictures with tarlatan, so that the impres- 
sion on entering was that the family were absent. 
Nettie saw all this, but as in a dream. Mr. Cowell was 
much fatigued by the exertions of his wedding-day, and 
for a few hours his bride was left to amuse herself. 
One of the maids came to her and said Mr. Cowell or- 
dered her to show Mrs. Cowell to the rooms prepared 
for her mother, where she could rest and dress for din- 
ner, this meal being ordered at seven. The girl ex- 
plained that Mrs. Stepney’s room opened into that of 
Miss Jones, the housekeeper; that Mr. and Mrs. Co- 
well’s rooms were on the other side of the house, but 
were not quite in order. Nettie found her mother’s 
room very comfortable. Feeling too restless to remain 
there alone, Mr. Cowell being still invisible, she wan- 
dered off, and quite enjoyed a walk among the sprouting 
trees, till the early evening sent her back to the house. 
There was a fire in the dreary parlor, but no one to be 
seen, and not a book anywhere with which she could 
wile away an hour. Naturally she went to sleep. She 
was wakened by her husband sitting beside her, hoping 
she was rested, and had found everything in order in 
her home. He apologized for leaving her, but his 
habits were peculiar, and his orders- in regard to her 
rooms had not been carried out, so that he was obliged 
to make changes. 

“ If you will come up with me now, my love, I will 
show you how entirely I have attended to your com- 
fort. I have great difficulty in breathing, and occupy 
a room of windows which are all open day and night. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


47 


My bed is in the centre of the room, so that I can have 
continual supplies of fresh air. Lest you should suffer 
from cold, I have had a transparent curtain between 
your room and mine, sufficient to protect you from too 
much air, and yet, as I wish you to keep a lamp lighted 
in your room, I can see your every movement. This 
will in no way interfere with your freedom.” 

At this point he opened an immense and dreary room, 
with a bed directly in the middle of it. 

The blast of cold air that met them on entering, 
nearly took Nettie’s breath away, and the absurdity of 
it all, made it impossible for her to control her desire 
to laugh. In fact, her nerves had so long been on a 
tension, that she had an hysterical break-down. 

Mr. Cowell looked on in amazement. 

“ My love, I pray you control yourself. To what am 
I indebted for this extraordinary mirth ?” 

“Oh, excuse me,” exclaimed Nettie. “I, — I cannot 
help it,” and she sank down on the floor, shaking with 
laughter, and yet, with the tears rolling down her 
cheeks. Mr. Cowell wisely left her, and sent the kind- 
hearted maid, only saying, “ I fail to comprehend this, 
and will await you below.” The girl was equal to the 
situation. “ La, ma’am, don’t take on so. He is queer ; 
we laugh sometimes. Come, get up. I’ll show you 
the settin’ room. ’Tain’t good to rile him, and he ain’t 
used to nerves.” Nettie struggled to regain her com- 
posure, though she laughed again as they passed the 
transparent curtain, a curious Japanese invention, and 
through that room to the one described as her “settin’ 
room,” where a fire and rather more comfortable ar- 
rangements gave her the first glimpse of a place where 
she might have peace and rest. “ I am rather tired,” 
she explained, “and that room was so comical, but I 
will soon be better. Can you bring me a glass of wine?” 


48 


MRS. GREGORY. 


The girl left her ; presently she returned without 
the wine, but with Mr. Cowell’s compliments, and a 
glass of water, of which he requested her to take a 
spoonful ! Fortunately dinner was soon announced, 
and Nettie met her husband in the dining-room. “ I 
sent you Veratrum, my love, and am glad you are 
better. Wine was not indicated by your symptoms. 
We will not refer to the extraordinary exhibition, so 
manifestly ill-timed. Allow me to place you at the 
head of my table.” 

Dinner refreshed the bride ; her husband certainly 
tried to entertain her, and she endeavored to be grate- 
ful. 


CHAPTER VI. 


Fortunately Nettie was not obliged to look, very 
long, for her mother’s coming ; in a few days she and 
Miss Jones arrived. The young wife tried to procure 
a few flowers to decorate her room, but Mr. Cowell 
said he did not approve of them for an invalid, and 
Nettie was too newly married to remonstrate, as the 
room was comfortably furnished with all that was nec- 
essary. When her mother glanced at the bright chintz 
curtains and coverings, the sofa and easy chair, she 
drew her daughter to her whispering, “ Thank you, my 
darling.” 

The removal proved too much for the waning 
strength. A severe increase of illness followed it, re- 
quiring both Nettie and Miss Jones to be in constant 
attendance. Mr. Cowell was very considerate. Fie only 
insisted on his wife taking a drive occasionally, and pro- 
vided for her a comfortable open carriage with a pair of 
gray horses. She always was obliged to go alone, and 
was limited to one hour. Mr. Cowell said that later in 
the season he would accompany her in his own carriage. 
So far this greatly dreaded husband had not proved 
himself impossible to live with. His eccentricities 
were numberless, but he rigidly kept his word, and 
gave his wife and her mother all he had promised. 
Moreover, he was absent for some weeks, so that 
Nettie by degrees began to hope that she would be- 
come accustomed to her life. He annoyed her, how- 
ever, by perpetually sighing, and speaking of a future 
4 


5o 


MRS. GREGORY. 


in which they would be more united. As this was not 
the present trial, Nettie tried to forget the ominous 
words. Her happiness was with her mother, and 
many hours of restfulness were passed each day in her 
room. One strange thing troubled her, and yet she so 
reproached herself for this feeling that she asked no 
explanation. It was her mother’s apparent affection 
for the extraordinary housekeeper. They talked un- 
ceasingly, they seemed to be confidential, they some- 
times were evidently interrupted by Nettie’s entrance. 
The poor child strove to overcome the painful feeling 
this gave her, but could not help a growing dislike to 
the woman who usurped her place. This feeling had 
but a short time to increase, for Mrs. Stepney changed 
for the worse very suddenly one day, and hastily sent 
for Nettie. Miss Jones left the room, and the mother 
and the daughter were alone. 

“ My darling I have a few last words to say. I know 
the parting comes to you as no new sorrow. You and 
I have faced that long ago. You have given me every 
possible comfort, do not imagine I cannot in some meas- 
ure conceive at what cost to yourself, but it is a relief to 
know that Mr. Cowell has carefully kept every promise, 
he has not interfered with our being together ; you have 

a luxurious home, the children are provided for ” 

here Mrs. Stepney paused — for a few moments she was 
unable to proceed. Nettie naturally ascribed this to 
emotion in speaking of the absent children ; she did not 
know that her mother had besought Mr. Cowell to send 
for them that she might once more see them before she 
died. He refused decidedly, saying words that struck 
a chill to the mother’s heart. The words were these : 
“ Madam, it was not in the bond.” She could not deny 
that she had made no stipulations in giving up her 
daughter. Her inexpressible relief and thankfulness 


MRS. GREGORY ._ 5 1 

at her having a home seemed as great a blessing as she 
dared ask. 

“ I must go on, Nettie. I want you to believe that I 
have good reason for saying that your happiness will be 
increased by the companionship of Miss Jones. I have 
learned much of her history ; promise me to keep her 
with you, and, if necessary, to confide in her if you are 
in trouble. Circumstances have rendered her peculiar, 
but she will be your staunch friend.” 

“ I trust, mamma, I need never make a confidante of 
Mr. Cowell’s housekeeper, but I will try to like her, 
and will believe that your advice is good. Don’t waste 
time on her. I want you to tell me what sort of a look- 
ing girl my cousin is, and wdiat I must do about her? 
Your illness and — other things — have put her out of my 
head.” 

“ I have made all the inquiries that are possible, and 
do not think you need to do any more. She is able to 
communicate with her friends in India, and they have 
our present address, so now I have dismissed this anx- 
iety. If you meet her accidentally you will be struck 
with a resemblance to me. It was very strange that 
you looked like my sister and her daughter like me. 
This was remarkable when you were children, and my 
sister spoke of it in her last letter. Now, my darling, a 
few more words for yourself. You may have trials be- 
fore you, of which no foresight can tell me how to w T arn 
you. Remember trials come to all. Yours may seem 
harder to bear than those of others, but it will be only 
so in seeming. The character would be but a weak one 
if developed only in green pastures. Treat sorrow as 
a guest — it is often heaven-sent ; let trial be a faithfully 
used discipline ; do not rebel against it, but strive to gain 
strength in it. It was when the bottles were broken 
that the light shone.” 


52 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ Oh, mother, mother, what a hard lesson you are 
teaching me to-night ! ” 

“ My child, you are one of the best nurses I have ever 
known; your care and thoughtfulness are perfect. 
Would you have learned this if I had not been ill ? ” 

“ Better not have known it, than that you should have 
suffered so much to teach me.” 

“If this were, the only good from my illness you 
might be right ” 

“ Don't, mother, don’t tell me of good from such sor- 
row. I see nothing but loneliness and darkness before 
me.” 

“ Your heart is sad, my darling. You are holding 
this separation close to your eyes, so that it shuts out 
all light. There is light beyond. The beyond is not 
far. You have made a great sacrifice for me ” — (Nettie 
had time to be thankful, her mother did not know how 
great.) “ Make one more, my precious one, and say you 
‘ rejoice, because I go to the Father.’ ” 

“I cannot say that, mother. When it comes I will 
bear it as best I may. That is all.” 

“ My darling, if it is permitted for me to watch over 
you, you may be sure I will never be far off. But 
there is a surer friend in the Father. Trust Him.” 

She was obliged to stop abruptly ; the feeble beating 
of the heart could hardly sustain the weary body. 
Voice failed, and Nettie sought the usual restoratives. 
They gave some relief, but the last words had been 
spoken. That night Nettie was alone. 

Everything in regard to the funeral was properly 
conducted. Mr. Cowell expressed no sympathy, but 
was not unkind. He evidently disliked anything in 
connection with the “dread potentate,” for he left home 
for several days after the funeral, saying, as he bade 
his sad bride farewell, “ Resume your colored gowns 


MRS. GREGORY. 


53 


my dear, immediately. I never permit black to be 
worn. Miss Jones lias directions about your ward- 
robe. I will soon return, and then I hope to have the 
constant companionship of my darling, so long sepa- 
rated from me.” Nettie was allowed no time to reply, 
but in great indignation turned to seek her own room. 
She was confronted by Miss Jones. “ Can I do any- 
thing for you, Mrs. Cowell,” she asked. “ I am entirely 
under your orders now.” 

“Nothing,” replied Nettie, turning from her, “I 
only wish to be alone.” Miss Jones bowed and disap- 
peared. “Alone;” it was very easy to be alone now. 
Nettie remained all day in her room, having her meals 
served to her there. All the next day, too, and then a 
note from Miss Jones contained the information that 
fearing to intrude, she took the liberty of reminding 
Mrs. Cowell that certain funds were in her hands for 
the replenishing of her wardrobe. Should the carriage 
be ordered, and they go out together? 

Nettie wrote on the back of the note : “I decline to 
go. If it is necessary to take any notice of the matter, 
you are at liberty to attend to it. I send one of my 
gowns for measurements.” 

Miss Jones received this with an expression of pain. 
“The time will come, poor child, when you will need 
me,” she thought. Then with the old brown gown as 
a pattern, she made the best disposition she could of the 
small sum left by Mr. Cowell. 

Two days passed, during which, I am sorry to say, 
Nettie nearly cried her eyes out, and perhaps would 
have quite succeeded in this womanish occupation had 
she not heard a mysterious voice which seemed to 
come from a closet in her room, and which sounded 
like her mother speaking from a great distance. It 
was not loud but had a strange muffled sound. “Be- 


54 


MRS. GREGORY. 


gin to live,” were the words. She distinctly heard 
them, there could be no mistake, although she tried to 
persuade herself that she fancied it. “No, that cannot 
be,” she thought, “for I never would have thought of 
saying that. “ Begin to live — I’ve lived two years in 
the last two days. What can it mean ? ” She examined 
the closet, she went outside and found there was no 
communication with any other room. Nothing could 
be discovered, but the interest in the matter gave a 
new current to her thoughts, and as preparatory to 
obeying this mandate, which in her heart she had no 
difficulty in interpreting, she looked in the glass and 
was very properly shocked at the swollen eyes and 
tousled hair, that met her glance. Nettie was perfectly 
neat, and always well dressed, no matter how plain a 
gown she wore. She did not like her looks, so she 
put on the only black suit she had, bathed her face and 
restored herself to as nearly her usual condition as 
possible. She had no choice ; her life must be taken up 
and lived ; she must make the best of it ; perhaps she 
could gain influence over Mr. Cowell, and do some 
good with his money ; she had the children to attend 
to, “And I wonder,” she thought, “ if there are not some 
people whom I may visit, and have a little variety.” 
Nothing great or noble came into her mind — only the 
simple life of doing her duty, and of endurance. She 
determined to go down to dinner ; perhaps Mr. Cowell 
might return ; she had never asked, for with all her 
resolutions she did not want to ask anything of Miss 
Jones. This woman who did everything, and knew 
everything, although always kind and civil, seemed to 
be in the place that belonged to the wife. One good 
precaution she took : Before she left her room she 
kneeled down and as a little child asked to be helped 
and guarded. Miss Jones was in the dining-room. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


55 


She squeaked out a few kind words, said that Mr. 
Cowell would be home to dinner, then with a half 
smile added, “Won’t you put something bright on? A 
ribbon or something ; he hates black so.” 

Nettie was indignant, and only answered, “I prefer 
black.” Miss Jones made no reply. In a few moments 
she followed Nettie, who had left the room. “Iam 
going to the post,” she said ; “ if you happen to have a 
letter for the children I will take it.” 

“Thank you,” said Nettie, “can you wait ten min- 
utes ? ” 

“ Certainly, I only need to be home before Mr. Cow- 
ell returns, and there is an hour yet.” 

Nettie rushed back to her room. The dear children 
indeed needed a letter ; why had she not thought of 
them ? She wrote rapidly and lovingly, and soon gave 
her letter to the waiting housekeeper. Accepting a 
kindness and thinking of someone besides herself, had 
done her good. She felt more cheerfully disposed to- 
ward her husband. 

At last a fly from the station delivered the old man 
at his door. His wife received him pleasantly, and no 
fault could be found with his greeting. 

“ I am weary, my love,” he said ; “ while I rest and 
prepare for dinner put on a cheerful gown, and do not 
annoy me again by the sight of anything so dreary as 
that lugubrious affair.” 

“ But ” began Nettie. 

“ There, my darling, that will do. The blue one I 
prefer. Do not discuss the matter. You will have a 
half hour. Saunders,” to his servant, “ take my trav- 
elling-bag, order dinner at seven, bring a glass of water 
and a spoon to my room.” 

“ Begin to live,” rang in Nettie’s ears. “ It must have 
been imagination, but was uncommonly sensible,” she 


56 


MRS. GREGORY. 


thought, “ and I rather think I’ll have to begin by tak- 
ing off this gown.” There was no help for it, and there 
was no doubt that an immense improvement was made 
in the outward appearance of our young friend. It is a 
pity that some other color had not been chosen to rep- 
resent affliction. The spirits of many a man have been 
depressed by a row of black columns at his dinner- 
table. Mr. Cowell settled it in a summary way, not 
however, to be recommended to other husbands. 

Dinner passed peacefully, and after it the trio gath- 
ered around the fire. Presently Nettie remarked that 
as Mr. Cowbell was so fond of bright things she won- 
dered why the furniture was covered with holland. 

“ I prefer it, my love, and regret that it does not meet 
with your approval. You have married an old man, my 
dear, who unfortunately cannot change his ways and 
habits.” 

“ Holland coverings,” persisted Nettie, “are not ways 
and habits, and I could make this room cheerful and 
bright.” 

“We will not discuss the matter, my love. Miss 
Jones, the chess-table. I am unequal to the style of 
conversation chosen by Mrs. Cowell.” 

Mrs. Cowell thus effectually suppressed, endeavored 
to interest herself in pawns and knights for the remain- 
der of the evening. She had begun to live. 

It was something cheering that the sun was coming 
north, and the buds had opened into leaves and flowers, 
and the birds had returned to their haunts, and were 
preparing their homes. It was some enjoyment to 
watch them. James, the gardener, superintended by 
Mr. Cowell, was rapidly planting the beds with the 
slips of later flowers, prepared during the winter, many 
of which were ready to burst into bloom as soon as the 
warm sun touched them. Nettie was much interested, 


MRS. GREGORY. 


57 


and would gladly have assisted, at least by arranging 
the colors so that the beauty of the flower-beds might 
equal their luxuriance. This interference was opposed 
by Mr. Cowell, who preferred each variety to be separ- 
ate, paying no regard to anything but their rapid de- 
velopment. He made no explanations, but ignored his 
wife’s suggestions until she felt herself in so uncomfort- 
able a position that she re-entered the house, hoping to 
find some occupation there. Miss Jones was too good 
a housekeeper to need help. There were no books to 
be found but a few histories, a bible, an encyclopedia, 
and some works on gardening. Her own books were 
few, and already well read. There was no piano ; she 
had no sewing, and then realized that she had no money 
with which she could purchase material for fancy-work, 
a sort of occupation which she detested, and only now 
thought of in desperation. She proposed driving one 
day, but Mr. Cowell begged her to be patient for a siiort 
time longer ; his spring work was nearly completed, 
“and then, my darling, I will devote myself to you.” 

This was not exactly what Nettie needed, so she 
wandered about aimlessly, longing for the children, 
thinking of her mother, feeling strangely trammelled 
without exactly seeing her chains, and reproaching 
herself for ingratitude when she compared her present 
home with the crowded room from which Mr. Cowell 
had taken her. “And yet,” she thought, “I was hap- 
pier then on my saddest days, than I am now. What 
is the matter with me ? I cannot even write cheerfully 
to the children.” 

Neither Mr. Cowell nor Miss Jones remarked upon 
her restlessness, but things changed. 


CHAPTER VII. 


One superb morning in June, Nettie felt a faint sus- 
picion of returning interest as she looked upon the 
beds of bright flowers massed in pyramids of bloom, 
throughout the entire garden. The indignation at 
Mr. Cowell’s indifference to her taste in the arrange- 
ment of coloring had died out. She determined no 
longer to neglect these brilliant gifts ; if she might not 
work over them she would decorate the rooms, and 
despite the covered furniture give cheerfulness to her 
home. Breakfast passed as usual ; Mr. Cowell looked 
pleasantly at his wife, recognizing her renewed spirits, 
and gallantly apologizing for an engagement of an 
hour, left her soon after. Miss Jones disappeared, and 
Nettie, finding her scissors, proceeded to prepare a sur- 
prise for her husband. She was just about to cut some 
of the brightest treasures, when hearing a shout, she 
started up. “ My lady, if you please, stop, stop,” and 
all out of breath, hardly able to speak, James reached 
her. Nettie looked at him in surprise. 

“Excuse me, my lady, Mr. Cowell does not permit 
any one to cut his flowers.” 

“ That does not apply to me, James,” was the digni- 
fied response. James looked distressed. “ I hope you 
will pardon me ; my orders are imperative, Mr. Cowell 
will soon return, will you kindly wait till he comes ; 
those flowers are for an especial purpose.” 

Nettie was disposed to assert her own right, but her 
good angel interfered, and leaving her basket and 


MRS. GREGORY. 


59 


scissors, she replied, “ I am glad you told me ; of course 
I do not wish to cut any that Mr. Cowell particularly 
values.” 

James was much relieved by this sensible position, 
and leaving the explanation to his master, went back to 
his work. Nettie found a pleasant seat in an arbor, 
when she feasted her eyes, and amused herself with 
fancying how her arrangement of the colors would 
have produced better effects. Her husband’s voice 
called her. “ Nettie, my darling, how lovely you look 
surrounded by the vines of the arbor. Is not this a 
beautiful sight ?” 

“Yes, indeed ; I was just going to cut some for the 
house, when James begged me to wait till you came.” 

“Did you cut any?” he asked with an anxious tone. 

“No, I waited, but I left my basket and scissors, and 
we will go now.” 

“ Not quite yet, my dearest ; wait till I have recovered 
my strength. You have married an old man, my child, 
and must be patient with him.” 

“ Indeed I will,” returned his wife with a fortunate 
spasm of gratitude. 

Mr. Cowell held her hand with his usual grasp, and 
kindly vouchsafed an explanation on the flower ques- 
tion. “ Those flowers, my dear wife, each represent 
so much money value. I am very proud of them, and 
they are sought for among the most aristocratic cir- 
cles. Those beside which I see your basket and those 
murderous looking scissors, still innocent of blood- 
guiltiness,” and he looked up for a smile at his face- 
tiousness, “ are all to be cut to-night, to be carefully 
packed in cotton, and to-morrow will decorate Lady 
Farnham’s dinner-table.” 

“It will be an exquisite gift.” 

“You misunderstand me my love, I have no per- 


6o 


MRS. GREGORY. 


sonal acquaintance with Lady Farnham. I sell them to 

her.” 

“ Sell your flowers ! ” 

“My love, your tone is hardly civil. Shall I not do 
what I will with mine own ? ” 

“ I certainly cannot dispute, your right to buy or sell, 
but I cannot fancy what pleasure there can be in this 
disposition of them. Why not give them ? ” 

“ For several reasons. First, I want the money they 
bring. Next, I could not take the liberty of giving flow- 
ers to persons whom I do not know. Again, I like the 
pleasure of knowing that my flowers are highly prized, 
and that they can find an entrance to circles where your 
old husband would not be admitted.” 

“ How very strange ! ” 

“ Naturally, my love, you cannot quite understand 
and appreciate all the motives and causes that produce 
the results you see in me.” 

“ You must have made a great sacrifice when you 
sent me so many,” and a ring of irony was in the tone. 
She was no match, however, for her truthful lover. 

“ Certainly, my darling. I made very great sacrifices. 
I lost money and failed to fill orders, but it w T as indis- 
pensable. It was a means to an end. Will you com- 
plain, my precious one, that I strewed your pathway 
with flowers ? ” 

“ No — but that you no longer give them to me ; it was 
a sort of deception.” 

“ You are again venturing on the borders of incivility, 
my dear wife ; you could then but look at them and 
inhale their perfume ; you can do this now. I debar you 
from no enjoyment of them but that of cutting them. 
Why should you wish to destroy their lives ?” 

“ Because that is my w r ay of enjoying them. I love 
to cut them, to handle them, to arrange them ” 


AIRS. GREGORY. 


61 


“ You need not continue ; I can readily see where we 
differ, and with great pain I appreciate your feeling. 
Now, my own darling, we will dismiss the subject. Of 
course I need not apprise one so well instructed as you 
have been, that a husband’s will is paramount. I must 
be obeyed to the letter. Not a flower, not a leaf, dead 
or alive, is to be touched. I speak emphatically because 
I always prefer to establish certain principles ; there is 
less difficulty to be apprehended for our after life. I 
made a mistake with my lost darling, and now that you 
have come to brighten and cheer my declining years, 
there must be perfect truth, full understanding between 
us.” 

“And this understanding is that I am never to act 
independently?” for Nettie was no coward, and was 
determined to face her difficulties. 

“ Never, I hope, my treasure. You are mine . We 
are one. I will be the helmsman. I will direct you.” 

Nettie shivered, at which Mr. Cowell put his arms 
around her and said, “You are chilled, my treasure, 
come out in the sunshine. The flowers I sent you but 
faintly figured my love. You shall have no need now 
for anything outside of that. My love shall shelter, pro- 
tect, and surround you ; now that you are alone in the 
world, your happiness shall more than ever be mine.” 

Nettie tried to find the sunshine warming and cheer- 
ing ; she endeavored to find comfort in this overwhelm- 
ing love, but relieved when she need only take his arm 
and not feel his grasp, she walked with him, listening 
to the long histories of why this tree was placed here, 
why that tree was placed there, why the path turned, 
why he did this, that, and the other, until she was 
nearly frantic, for like all young people who have 
minds of their own, Nettie wanted to express her views 
and fancies ; whenever she did, she was politely told she 


62 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ bordered on incivility,” and yet, if she did not reply 
he asked if she heard ? So other growths than flowers 
beset the path of my heroine. 

“ We will be troubled by very few visitors, my love. 
I have never cultivated social relations with our neigh- 
bors ; I saw the difficulty it produced in the case of my 
lost darling. * I doubt if you will be annoyed by any 
calls.” 

“ But I like people.” 

“ Do you, my treasure ? I am so glad that my time 
is my own, so that I can fill any want of society you 
may experience. I shall rarely be obliged to leave 
you. We will walk, drive and read together.” 

“ Oh, ‘drive,’ let us drive now,” exclaimed the weary 
bride. 

“ Certainly, we will go after luncheon, your health 
is my first care, and perfect regularity in your hours 
must be regarded. We lunch at twelve.” 

“ Do you not think one o’clock is early enough ? ” 

“No, my darling, or I should have decided upon one 
o’clock. It will avoid much trouble if you will try to 
overcome the habit of questioning my regulations. Of 
course during the life of your mother I allowed every 
liberty, to my own extreme annoyance ” 

“ I regret you should have been annoyed ” 

“ Yes, my love, of course, but it was a means to an 
end. I had promised her every comfort, and I believe 
I kept my word.” 

“You did most kindly, and I am grateful,” returned 
Nettie. She had married him for this, and for a home, 
why should she complain ! 

They went to the house where the frugal luncheon 
was spread. Miss Jones performed her customary 
duties with her customary composure. Nettie had no 
appetite, but endeavored to eat something, she was a 


MRS. GREGORY. 63 

little surprised at one incident. Miss Jones asked her 
whether she would take tea or coffee ? 

“ Coffee,” she replied. 

“ No, my darling, not to-day, your hands seemed a 
little feverish. Weak breakfast tea, Miss Jones, for 
Mrs. Cowell.” 

Miss Jones signified her assent, but Nettie exclaimed, 
“ I really cannot drink breakfast tea, I dislike it ex- 
tremely.” 

“ It is important to overcome that prejudice ; it is 
better for you to-day, my dear.” 

We all know that the color of weak breakfast tea 
and of coffee are nearly the same. To Nettie’s amaze- 
ment her cup contained delicious coffee ; she hastened 
to drink it without further remark. 

When Mr. Cowell ordered the carriage, the servant 
hesitated — “ The gray horses are gone, sir.” 

“ I did not order the gray horses that I am aware of. 
Miss Jones, did I say gray horses ? ” 

“ I think not,” replied that dignitary in her squeaky 
voice. 

“ I cannot account for your answer, Saunders. No — 
I wish no explanation. I ordered the carriage with the 
horses that are accustomed to go when I drive.” 

Miss Jones had an attack of coughing, for which Mr. 
Cowell handed her a piece of liquorice, and with which 
she left the room. 

“ Get your hat and a light shawl, my dear.” 

Nettie ran upstairs, rejoiced for a moment’s relief. 
Miss Jones met her in the upper hall. “Don’t betray 
me,” she whispered. “ Sometimes I can help you a 
little.” 

“ Thank you,” returned Nettie, rather coolly, for her 
ideas of dignity and propriety were somewhat dis- 
turbed even by the coffee experience, but she remem- 


64 


MRS. GREGORY. 


bered her mother’s advice, “Make a friend of Miss 
Jones,” and said no more. Her hat was soon on. She 
remained at her window till she heard the wheels. 
Then a glance at the equipage transfixed her. 

The beautiful open carriage, with the handsome 
grays, was not there ; in its place an old-fashioned, 
close carriage, drawn by two thin, bony, rheumatic- 
looking horses. At first she supposed some dilapidated 
visitor had come with a relic of past greatness, but no 
one got out, and Saunders was standing holding the 
open door. 

A hand touched her. “ My child, why are you so long ? 
I came to seek you. A half hour is an age to be separ- 
ated from you. I want you fully to comprehend, my 
love, that it is your presence I desire at all times. I 
do not wish to be separated a moment from you. I 
ask but little in return for my great love ; will you not 
give me this ? ” 

“But little!” thought Nettie, “but how can a man 
know what the gift of one’s self is ? ” 

She made no audible reply, only followed her master 
down-stairs. The old shaky carriage was entered— she 
would not in her poorest days have hired such a one — 
the horses gave a jerk, then two jerks, after which with 
a great effort, they walked off with^their load. What 
a weary walk it was; very little air could enter the 
small windows ; the road was between high hedge rows 
over which nothing could be seen. The heat, the dust, 
the rattling of the old vehicle, were dreadful. 

“Would not the other carriage have been pleas- 
anter?” asked Nettie. 

“ Perhaps so, my love, but it is already returned.” 

“To whom ? how do you mean ? ” 

“Still wearying me with questions. I trust some- 
time, my dear, your mind will be at rest, and I be at 


MRS. GREGORY. 


65 


liberty to interest you in higher themes than the com- 
forts of every-day life. I really have forgotten your 
question.” 

“ My question was, to whom our carriage was re- 
turned ?” 

“Yes, I remember. To its owner.” 

“ Then it was not yours ? ” 

“No. I hired it, at great and very inconvenient ex- 
pense, to give your mother comfort.” 

“Thank you,” said Nettie, by this time willing to 
risk an upset, so that her exasperating husband might 
be rolled into a ditch. 

“ You are quite welcome, my love ; it was a means to 
an end. I ask your devotion in return for it.” 

“You shall have all I promised you,” returned his 
wife. 

“ I never expected the passionate love a younger 
man might inspire ; I asked your sweet companion- 
ship ; in return, you shall share all I have.” 

A long silence followed -this ; the heat and dust in- 
creased — it was the hottest part of the day. 

“ Suppose we return and drive later — it is very 
warm.” 

“Very, my love, I am suffering from it, but I prefer 
to continue our drive, as you selected this form of 
amusement. I can bear it. I never drive late.” 

“Never in the beautiful evenings? You lose a 
great pleasure.” 

“Doubtless. You are well informed on the proper 
appointments of carriages, and the best hours for en- 
joying them. Perhaps, however, my precious one, as 
I have lived longer, my experience may give me differ- 
ent views.” 

“ I wish I had a view of something ,” exclaimed Net- 
tie, looking wearily at the hedges. 

5 


66 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ I regret to be unable to content you so early in our 
matrimonial career. If, my love, you would cultivate 
serenity, you would be happier.” 

Nettie resigned herself to her fate ; so far everything 
and every day had been harder to bear than the pre- 
ceding. She had heard of chains ceasing to gall, when 
they had been worn for years. “ Years ! ” the word 
fell heavily on her heart. Three hours of the close 
carriage, the dragging of the old horses, the dust and 
heat, nearly reduced the bride to despair. Her hus- 
band had finally gone to sleep — that was one comfort, 
but even that was modified by his heavy head resting 
on her shoulder. She bore it a long time, then ven- 
tured to place it on a shawl, folded as a pillow, then 
she put her head outside, “John, John,” she whispered 
“go home, for heaven’s sake.” 

The horse stopped, John climbed down, fortunately 
his master still slept ; he looked in, then nodded signifi- 
cantly, and in a few minutes turned, and Nettie, rather 
amazed at his behavior found they were approaching 
her prison house. 

“ It always puts ’im to sleep,” said Saunders, as they 
stopped, and he opened the door. 

Nettie jumped out ; leaving her husband to the care 
of his servant, she ran upstairs, encountered Miss Jones, 
and nearly knocked her down. 

“ Mercy,” squeaked the housekeeper, “ is anything 
amiss ? ” 

“ No, I’m only tired of the cramped position in the 
carriage ; Mr. Cowell went to sleep, and oh, I want to 
fly, I’m so tired.” 

Miss Jones laughed ; “ I know all about it,” she said ; 
“ did you like the hedges ? ” 

Then Nettie remembered that it was by no means 
proper to discuss her husband’s peculiarities, or to en- 


MRS. GREGORY. 67 

courage the familiarity of her housekeeper, however 
kindly it was meant. 

“The road seemed peculiarly shut in,” she said; “I 
think the want of air affected me.” 

“ Mr. Cowell takes that same drive every day,” en- 
couragingly said Miss Jones, who resented a little 
Nettie’s want of confidence in her. There was no time 
for more, for the master of the mansion was now fully 
awake, as his words, heard by the two young women, 
proved. 

“ Find Mrs. Cowell, at once, Saunders, and say to her 
that Mr. Cowell waits her presence in the library, at 
the same time remind Miss Jones that it is time for 
tea.” 

Miss Jones thus reminded, went to her duties, while 
Mrs. Cowell, who concluded to assert herself a little, 
sent word to her husband that she would soon be 
down-stairs ; she was very tired, and intended to lie 
down for a half hour. She had scarcely reached her 
sofa, when Mr. Cowell entered. 

“ My love, my darling, are you ill ? ” 

“ No, only tired and affected by the heat and dust ; a 
half hour’s quiet will relieve me.” 

“ Yes, my dear, it will, I am sure ; I will sit be- 
side you, and hold your hand in mine. Your head is 
cool,” he said, laying his hot hand upon her fair brow, 
and unmercifully leaving it there, while his other 
hand held both of hers. “There, my precious one, 
rest — I will have tea brought here, that I need not 
leave you.” 

“ Tea is served,” said Saunders. 

“ Order it brought here ” 

“ Oh, no, no,” exclaimed Nettie, starting up, ready for 
any change, so that the hot hand could be taken from 
her forehead, “ I prefer to go down.” 


68 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“Very well,” said Mr. Cowell. “Naturally I am un- 
prepared for these sudden changes, and would prefer 
more serenity, but I suppose I can hardly expect repose 
in my old age,” and with a sigh that seemed to come 
from his boots, he offered Nettie his arm, and tenderly 
supporting her, aided her steps as she descended the 
stairs. Miss Jones had drawn her green shade farther 
than ever over her eyes, and only the quivering of her 
lips revealed any emotion. Nettie thought she was 
laughing but was not quite sure. Again a good cup 
of coffee was smuggled into her tea-cup, and thankful 
that Mr. Cowell did not propose to feed her, Nettie 
drank it without observation. 

“ Are you becoming accustomed to breakfast tea, my 
love ? ” 

“ She cannot fail to like it, the way I make it,” 
squeaked Miss Jones, saving Nettie any reply. 

“ I spoke to Mrs. Cowell,” said the master. 

“ I shall never learn to like it,” said Nettie. 

“ My love, avoid positive expressions, they are out of 
taste for so young a person.” 

“ Mr. Selwyn,” announced Saunders. 

“ Ah, my good friend, allow me to present you to 
Mrs. Cowell ; she has heretofore been occupied with her 
invalid mother, now removed from us, by the unerring 
dart of death.” 

Mr. Selwyn bowed kindly to the lovely young bride, 
whose ready tears it was impossible to suppress at her 
husband’s speech. There was a tender pity in the law- 
yer’s look, who asked if he might have a private inter- 
view with Mr. Cowell. Mr. Cowell looked vexed but 
said, “Miss Jones, please walk with Mrs. Cowell a half 
hour. Go six times around the arbor path, then cross 
the bridge and return the other way.” 

“Yes, sir,” squeaked Miss Jones. 


MRS. GREGORY. 69 

“ Isn’t this lovely,” exclaimed Nettie, as they went 
outside, “I wish Mr. Selwyn would come every day.” 

Miss Jones laughed, “Mr. Cowell is rather exacting,” 
she said, “ but I suppose you knew about it before you 
married him.” 

“Oh, of course,” replied Nettie, hastily, still loyal to 
her husband. “Are we out of sight of the house 
here ? ” 

“ Yes ; why ? ” 

“ Because I want to run, don’t tell any one.” 

“Not I,” laughed the housekeeper. 

Nettie started ; oh how she enjoyed it, light as a gaz- 
elle she ran, then she mounted a rock that was on the 
side of the path, from that she took a Hying leap, then 
she danced, and finally rejoined the housekeeper who 
was shaking with laughter, as she tried to sigh, “I 
could run once.” 

“I rather think you could now.” 

“ No, I am past that age,” and the voice squeaked fear- 
fully. “ We are coming in sight of the windows now,” 
at which Mrs. Cowell resumed her dignified demeanor 
until the danger was over. She diversified her “ six 
times round” with various like performances, crossed 
the bridge and returned the other way, in a very satis- 
factory manner. Mr. Selwyn was still there. Nettie was 
so thoroughly refreshed, that she came in looking bright 
and lovely ; her husband’s eyes feasted on her as he gal- 
lantly placed a chair beside him, and took her hand. The 
lawyer was so fascinated that he invited himself to din- 
ner. This relieved that usually grave ceremony, and 
as he challenged Mr. Cowell to chess after it, Nettie’s 
duties were light. They consisted in holding, as usual, 
her husband’s disengaged hand, and in watching the 
game. He asked her approval of every move, and 
though his opponent pleasantly remonstrated at his 


70 


MRS. GREGORY. 


hard fate in having two combatants, Mr. Cowell per- 
sisted. They kept it up till a late hour, and the lawyer 
took his leave. 

Miss Jones came in with the bed-candles, and the 
weary day was over. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


The next day, very much the same routine was gone 
through with — the same morning walk, the same intol- 
erable drive, the same feeling of desperation — but not 
the relief of a walk with Miss Jones. The devoted 
husband took the “six times round” which Nettie 
found was the daily exercise at that hour. The next 
day and the next, then came a letter from the chil- 
dren. 

Mr. Cowell opened it, and read it first, and then 
Nettie blazed with indignation as she took it from 
him. 

“ I must and will read my own letters,” she ex- 
claimed. 

“ My dearest love, why this unseemly anger ? We 
are one. You are perfectly at liberty to peruse all my 
correspondence. The children’s letter is very silly, 
extremely so. I shall always read all your letters be- 
fore you do, and if, again, you become so unnaturally 
excited, I will lie obliged to suppress them entirely. I 
cannot risk your health.” 

“ My health was perfect before I was so watched,” 
almost shrieked the wife. 

Mr. Cowell put his hands over his ears. “ My love, 
I have many infirmities, but deafness is not one ; I 
must entreat more composure ; really you will make a 
wreck of my nerves.” 

Nettie, with her letter in her hand, went out on the 
piazza ; she could not help crying. Strangely, as she 


72 


MRS. GREGORY. 


reached the outside, a voice came to her, her own 
dear mother’s voice — “ poor darling, try to bear it.” 

She looked in every direction ; it seemed to come 
from above her. Could it really be possible that her 
mother could see her trouble and sorrow ! ^ “ Oh,” she 
thought, “ if she does see, she will know what I bear 
for her.” But Nettie was constitutionally afraid of any- 
thing supernatural, and would have preferred not to be 
so closely cared for in both worlds. 

She remembered the comfort the words had been : 
“ I will try to watch over you, dear, you shall not be 
lonely ;” but somehow the reality of it was uncomfort- 
able. She opened the letter, it was short and childish. 

“ Darlin’ Nettie: We are having a good time; 
everything is verry plessent. We studdy some, and 
play some. Kate is verry good, but is homsik. She 
cries and cries — like the cherrybim, kontinnually, and 
says she kounts every day to vakashun. Give my love 
to Mr. Cowell, your husbin ; if he ain’t good to you, 
stick pins in him. 

“ Send me some munny to by a kite string. 

“ Oh, I do so want to kiss you when it kums nite. 

“ Your own brother, 

“Will.” 

Over this Nettie cried until she could cry no more ; 
then, remembering who paid for the education of her 
darlings, and thinking of the two weeks before vaca- 
tion, she strove to control herself and go inside. 

Miss Jones was engaged in the favorite game. “ For- 
give me for leaving you so long alone, but chess is my 
passion, and Miss Jones beguiled me. Mrs. Cowell 
will finish your game,” said Mr. Cowell, to the house- 
keeper ; and, glad to be saved from talking, or rather 
listening, Nettie took the offered place. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


73 


The game was prolonged late in the evening ; then 
as Mr. Cowell was in a very good-humor, Nettie 
spoke of the letter, and of her great pleasure in receiv- 
ing it, also of her tender love for the little girl so soon 
deprived of a mother’s care, to all of which her hus- 
band gave polite attention. She then inquired which 
room would be most convenient for them to occupy 
on the coming vacation ? 

“Miss Jones, did you hear me say anything about 
those children coming -here for their vacations ?” 

“ I did not,” squeaked the lady addressed. 

Nettie waited a moment. Then as Mr. Cowell ap- 
peared to have dismissed the subject, she returned to 
it. 

“They will of course come home, as there is no 
where else for them to go.” 

“ Miss Jones, have I said anything about their going 
anywhere ? ” 

“ You have not,” was the answering squeak. 

At this, Nettie’s anger, which had only been in tem- 
porary subjection, “went up head.” 

“ Will you oblige me, Mr. Cowell, by addressing your 
replies to me. I am quite capable of comprehending 
them.” 

“ My dear love, is it your voice taking that irritable 
tone ? You have married an old man, my precious 
child, do not utterly destroy his nerves. Can you re- 
duce yourself to sufficient serenity to repeat your orig- 
inal question in a tone to which it is possible to 
reply ? ” 

Nettie was too angry to be amused, which she fancied 
Miss Jones was ; her tell-tale mouth was twitching 
oddly, but the wise housekeeper did not interfere. 

“ I inquired which room the children would sleep in 
during their vacation ? ” 


7 4 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ And I reply, my dear, that they will sleep in their 
own room.” 

“Which one is that?” 

“ I really am unable to tell ; Miss Jones accompanied 
them to the school, but you object to my gaining in- 
formation from that lady, therefore, unless you ask her, 
I cannot — in the present weak state of my brain — im- 
agine how we are to find out.” 

“ Does all this circumlocution mean that you are not 
willing they should return here ? ” 

“ Really, my love, I am so utterly unaccustomed to 
being catechized that I lose the thread of the question. 
Even my lost darling in her most vigorous days never 
subjected me to similar annoyances. When may I rea- 
sonably hope your present condition will be succeeded 
by one of mental health ? ” 

“ When you treat me as a gentleman should.” 

“ Take care ” — sounded distinctly in the room ; it was 
her mother’s voice. “Did you speak, Miss Jones?” 
asked Nettie. 

“ I heard a voice distinctly ; it was no more like mine 
than a strain of music is,” squeaked the housekeeper. 

“I also heard it,” said Mr. Cowell, “perhaps it was I. 
I really am so bewildered I cannot tell whether I spoke 
or not. We will not resume this subject. My poor un- 
fortunate wife, most earnestly I trust that I will not 
again witness such evident signs of mental disturbance.” 

Nettie was silenced ; she then for the first time re- 
membered that the first “ lost darling ” had ended her 
days in an insane asylum, and felt her only safety was 
in retaining perfect control of herself ; this dreadful 
man was capable of wrecking the strongest intellect, 
and of outliving two “ lost darlings.” 

The next day, Mr. Cowell proposed stopping in the 
village, to purchase some gifts for the children. Nettie 


MRS. GREGORY. 


75 


supposing it was intended as a mode of expressing his 
regret, gladly accepted the sign of reconciliation, for he 
had bemoaned her condition in a most alarming man- 
ner, until the hour for the drive. Accordingly they 
stopped at a little shop where odds and ends of every- 
thing were sold. “What shall we buy?” asked Net- 
tie. 

“ Whatever you wish, my poor dear.” 

“First a kite-string,” said the “dear,” selecting a 
good ball of twine ; the price of this was disputed so 
long, that Nettie’s mortification prevented her propos- 
ing anything else. 

“ If you are incapable of choice, my love, I will de- 
cide. Sugar plums.” 

“ Sixpence for that lot, sir.” 

“Too high, give me stale candies; they will make 
them ill under any circumstances, so stale ones are as 
good.” 

A small parcel was put up. 

“ Slate pencils strike me as appropriate,” was the 
next brilliant suggestion. 

As six of these delightful playthings could be fur- 
nished for a penny, they were added. 

A dissected map, of which three of the pieces were 
lost, was purchased at half price ; then a second-hand 
copy of “ Robinson Crusoe” was found. 

“They have read that,” said Nettie. 

“ It will bear reperusal, my poor dear. Now a porte- 
monnaie for each one, that will do ; put them in one 
parcel, and we will send them at once.” 

Nettie’s cheeks were flaming, but she was afraid to 
say a word, the porte-monnaies were an addition of in- 
jury to insult. The parcel was sent. 

“Now, my love (you do so remind me of my lost 
darling, to-day), those children will be quite reconciled 


76 


MRS. GREGORY. 


to passing their vacations at school. As each one comes 
round we will make up a similar parcel.” 

“ When am I to see them ? ” 

“ My poor dear, try to get your mind from this habit 
of dwelling on one subject. Nothing more unsettles 
the reason.” 

Nettie’s terror subdued her. He certainly was capa- 
ble of putting her in an asylum. She must conquer 
herself and watch carefully. 

Miss Jones awaited them, with the joyful announce- 
ment that Mr. Selwyn was in the library. 

“Miss Jones, take Mrs. Cowell six times — no, four 
times round the arbor path, then over the bridge, and 
home the other way. Order some cooling drink for 
her on your return.” 

Miss Jones signified assent, and Nettie felt intensely 
thankful for a moment in which to collect her thoughts ; 
presently she decided that she was no match for the old 
man alone, and perhaps the housekeeper could really 
help her. 

“ Miss Jones, are you my friend ? ” 

“ I am your friend,” squeaked the lady. 

“Your friend,” said the mother’s voice. 

“ Oh ! did you hear that ? ” 

“Yes, it sounded like an echo, a very distant one, 
and was a pleasant confirmation of my words,” said the 
housekeeper. 

“ Mr. Cowell is so very peculiar, that I scarcely know 
how to act. I am constantly betrayed into saying some- 
thing that annoys him, and when he assumes that pity- 
ing tone, he frightens me.” 

“You have need to be alarmed. I have no doubt he 
drove his first wife insane, and then put her in an asy- 
lum, where she died.” 

“It seems as if I could not bear it,” returned Nettie. 


MRS. GREGORY. 77 

“You must try not to oppose him. Could you not 
manage to be pleased with his arrangements ? ” 

“ What ! when he reads my letters ? ” 

“ That is disagreeable, but he does no harm with 
them. One came yesterday for your mother, I can’t 
find out what he did with it.” 

“ I will ask him.” 

“ That would betray me. I will ask him before you.” 

“Thank you. Can I manage to get the children 
here ? ” 

“Not possibly ; he arranged for them to pass all their 
vacations at school.” 

“ Oh, my darling little Kate, I cannot live without 
seeing her. My poor, poor mother, how disappointed 
you would be ! ” exclaimed Nettie, whose misery made 
her forget her resolutions to maintain her position 
and her dignity. 

“ Perhaps there will be some change soon,” replied 
Miss Jones. 

“ Some change soon,” said the mother’s voice. 

“ It is an echo,” said Nettie. 

“ It seems so,” replied her companion. 

“Are your eyes weak ?” asked Nettie. 

“ I cannot suffer them to see the light,” was the reply, 
with a squeak that nearly destroyed Nettie’s gravity. 

“The condition of my voice, and of my eyes is a 
great source of trial to me, but I think Mr. Cowell 
likes me better for being peculiar, so that, as I must 
work for my support, I ought not to complain.” 

“ Not at such small affairs as that,” sighed Nettie. 

They were obliged to return then. Lemonade was 
prescribed for his wife, and Mr. Cowell superintended 
her drinking it. Then he made her lie down, sitting 
beside her holding both hands, till poor Nettie thought 
of a galley-slave with envy. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Months passed. The cooler weather seemed to in- 
vigorate Nettie, and the autumn cares kept Mr. Cowell 
occasionally away from her. Whenever he was absent 
Miss Jones proposed a walk, and made herself so enter- 
taining that Nettie looked upon her few hours of free- 
dom as a merciful boon. One day after an early din- 
ner, during which Mr. Cowell had been unusually silent, 
he placed her hand in his, saying “ My love, I have been 
very uncomfortable for some hours. Come to the Li- 
brary ” (this room was so called on account of its con- 
taining the Encyclopedia) ; “ I think if you rub my foot 
you may relieve me. Your dear hands always soothe 
my suffering.” 

“ Could not Saunders be of more service ? ” 

“No, my poor darling. I would have had no diffi- 
culty in calling him if I had wished. I am not quite 
imbecile. Do not withdraw your hand,” as Nettie re- 
sisted an impulse to leave him. 

He laid down on the sofa, first placing a chair for his 
wife. “ Now, my dear, I will place my foot in your lap ; 
rub it gently ; do not weary yourself ; the gentle friction 
will relieve the nervousness. If I should doze a little 
do not stop. It is the continuous current, I mean the 
agreeable sensation that soothes me.” 

Controlling her distaste at this new occupation, Net- 
tie took charge of the nervous foot. “That is delicious, 
my precious one, I shall soon sleep. By no means re- 
move your hand for a moment, it would waken me.” 


MRS. GREGORY. 


79 


Sleep he did, most loudly and unmusically, while Net- 
tie rubbed and rubbed. She was tempted to rub the 
skin off, but being certain that she would be obliged to 
rub it on again, she tried to do her duty. 

Presently Miss Jones looked in. As this lady’s eyes 
were covered by her shade her mouth only betrayed her 
emotions, excepting a rare upturning of her nose on 
extreme occasions ! She performed this unbecoming 
movement as she looked with surprise at Nettie’s posi- 
tion, and as she entered with her lips quivering, she very 
needlessly stumbled over a footstool which dashed 
across the room as if alive, and upset a fire-screen. 

“ Oh, what has happened ? ” exclaimed Mr. Cowell ; 
“ My love, are you hurt ? ” 

Nettie explained that Miss Jones had stumbled. 

“ Yes, excuse me,” said that lady ; “ I fell over a foot- 
stool. Will you allow me to take Mrs. Cowell’s place ? 
She looks utterly exhausted.” 

The half aroused sleeper opened his eyes. “ Yes, yes, 
I see ; keep your hand on, my love. I prefer my wife’s 
hand, thank you ; her back is weary ; place a pillow be- 
hind her, Miss Jones. Make my darling comfortable. 
A glass of wine, old port for her,” and he was asleep 
again. 

“ Selfish old dolt,” said her mother’s voice, as Nettie 
moved to admit the pillow in her chair. She turned 
quickly to the housekeeper. “ Did you hear anyone 
speak ?” 

“ Yes, distinctly ; I heard ‘ selfish old dolt.’ Was it not 
you ? ” 

“ Hardly of my husband,” she replied indignantly, 
hesitating whether to charge Miss Jones with the in- 
civility. 

“Do not talk, my love,” murmured her husband. 
Miss Jones shrugged her shoulders, and as she turned 


8o 


MRS. GREGORY. 


to leave the room said, “ Will you be denied to com- 
pany, madam ; 1 see a carriage driving in the gate ? ” 

“ Oh, certainly ; give strict orders ; I do not know 
how long I may be detained.” 

“ Let it drop" said her mother’s voice. 

Nettie shuddered, but made no comment. 

Miss Jones hastily left the room, to prevent the en- 
trance of the unusual guests. 

For four weary hours the wife who had sold her lib- 
erty, held that foot ; she wanted to pinch it, to stick pins 
in it, to rub it with a curry-comb, but all the same she 
did what she conceived to be her duty. At last the 
roaring ceased, and her husband was fully awake. 

“Thank you, my precious one; I have had a half 
hour’s nap. Put on my slipper again ; I would like to 
take your arm and walk a little.” 

“You have slept four hours,” said Nettie, rising with 
difficulty. 

“ My love, strive to overcome your habit of exaggera- 
tion ; we will walk now.” And, slightly offended, Mr. 
Cowell took the offered arm, and going out on the 
piazza, began a promenade which ended only with the 
last streak of daylight. “ I really cannot walk any 
longer,” said Nettie. 

“ My dearest love, why did you not mention your un- 
precedented fatigue before. Your young and vigorous 
life has hardly need to weary so soon, when I at nearly 
eighty years can still walk ; however, if I must yield to 
this extraordinary whim of yours — you will pardon the 
word — I will be obliged to forego any longer exercise ; 
we will send for tea, and perhaps you may recover 
sufficiently to play chess with me after that refresh- 
ment.” 

Nettie made no reply as they went in. 

“ Why do you not speak, my love ? ” 


MRS. GREGORY. 


8l 


“ I am actually so tired, I did not see any necessity of 
reply.” 

“ My dear, sit down ; before we ring, I must have this 
matter explained. You walk a short time — you com- 
plain of fatigue ; instantly, without hesitation, I consent 
to forego my necessary exercise, and come inside. You 
make no acknowledgment, and on my gentle remon- 
strance, you, in a most peevish voice — pardon the word 
— say you are too tired to see any necessity for reply. 
Now I will pass over your tone ; it is agonizing to my 
nervous system, but I will not enlarge on that ; what I 
wish to make clear to you is the illogical form of ex- 
pression, you are * too tired to see.’ That indicates 
brain disturbance ; probably belladonna will relieve 
you. Your brain was never very strong, my love ; avoid 
any sort of agitation, nervous excitement, weariness ; 
give up tea, take a warm bath, and retire early. Now 
ring, and remain beside me ; I must watch you more 
carefully, my chosen treasure. Give me your hand.” 

Poor Nettie was in despair ; women will understand 
when I say she wanted to scream ; all she could do was 
to hold tight to the arm of the chair with one hand, and 
bite her lips. How much longer she could endure it, 
was an unsolvable problem ; again and again she re- 
solved not to feel, not to care, to turn herself into a 
machine ; the smooth-faced Saunders answered the 
bell. 

“ Bring tea, Saunders, and a glass of lemonade ; send 
Miss Jones.” 

“ Did you send for me, Mr. Cowell ? ” asked the pe- 
culiar voice of the housekeeper. 

“Yes, Miss Jones ; my wife is not well ; she has both 
brain and other disturbances ; she complains constant- 
ly ” 

“ Oh ! ” ejaculated Nettie. 

6 


82 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ My love, control yourself ; I regret your suffering, 
but really I must not be subjected to these sudden 
starts. You know my life hangs on a thread. What 
will become of you when I am gone, poor child, poor 
darling? To proceed, Miss Jones, with the thread of 
thought which my wife so uncivilly — pardon the word 
— interrupted, I should say, ‘broke,’ as I chose the 
figure of a ‘thread,’ to represent the continuous line 
of thought — to proceed, here is the key of my cabinet, 
go to the third drawer on the right hand side, you will 
find a box of remedies of a peculiar strength, made ex- 
pressly for me by my own physician, and which I use 
only for myself — my wife is a part of myself, Miss Jones, 
— the most precious part ” 

“Stuff” said the voice. 

“Who spoke ?” asked Mr. Cowell. 

No one answered. “ Some one spoke ; I heard a 
sound. My love, if you are not suffering too acutely, 
will you oblige me by a reply ? ” 

“I did not speak,” said Nettie. 

“I heard some one,” said Miss Jones. 

“ I will investigate later. Now I wish to proceed ; take 
from the drawer a small vial of belladonna, drop two 
drops in a half tumbler of distilled water — you know 
where to find the bottle — stir it vigorously, always the 
same way, lock the cabinet, and bring the medicine to 
my wife. I can only intrust this to you, Miss Jones ; 
the health and happiness of that precious creature is 
the one thought of my existence.” Miss Jones went 
on her errand. “Nettie, my darling, sit nearer me 
the “darling” obeyed. 

“Now tell me why you interrupted when T was 
speaking to Miss Jones?” 

“ I did not,” said Nettie, indignantly. 

“ My love, will you not try, for my sake — your poor, 


MRS. GREGORY. 


83 


suffering husband — to control your excessively plebean 
— pardon the word — mode of darting at me, when you 
speak ; also oblige me by not denying my charge — you 
did speak. Why do you not answer ? ” 

“ I already told you I did not, therefore ” 

“ There, that will do ; don’t attempt to argue, it is bad 
for you ; I will pardon you. Now rest until Saunders 
brings tea.” 

Nettie shut her eyes, and put her head back ; if she 
could have five minutes quiet, she would be able to en- 
dure it, but one minute was all she could gain. “My 
dear, if you can possibly sit up, I would like you to 
take this medicine,” as the housekeeper entered with 
the tumbler. Nettie obediently took her dose, refus- 
ing to notice an amused look from under the green 
shade. She would not acknowledge her husband’s ab- 
surdities to this strange woman, about whom there 
seemed to hang a mystery, and yet without the allevia- 
tion procured by her, what would her existence be ? 
Saunders brought the tea and the lemonade ; Miss 
Jones, as usual, handed Mr. Cowell his cup, then asked 
his wife what she would take. “ Tea, strong,” was the 
reply. “ Pardon me, my love, I really cannot consent 
to such trifling with your health ; I ordered the lemon- 
ade for you, but after belladonna I fear I must ask you 
to forego even that. Take water to-night, my precious 
one.” Nettie rose and poured out a glass for herself, 
her husband watching every movement. 

“ My love, we will have a game of chess now ; are 
you able to lift the table beside me?” 

“ I will return in a moment,” said Nettie, leaving the 
room in desperation. She was so quick that she did not 
hear the remonstrance, and, running to her room, threw 
herself on her sofa, thankful for one moment of soli- 
tude, even if an hour of covert reproaches followed it. 


84 


MRS. GREGORY. 


The clock ticked, measuring her stolen quiet, two, 
three, four, five minutes, then Miss Jones stood beside 
her, with a cup of fragrant coffee in her hand. “Take 
it, and come down as quickly as you can ; I’ll keep him 
amused five minutes more.” 

“Thank you!” exclaimed the surprised Nettie, 
“but ” 

“No matter, just drink it ; you will give out if you 
don’t; put the cup in my room.” 

“ Drink it,” said her mother’s voice. The housekeep- 
er was gone, and Nettie with a half shiver and a fur- 
tive turn to look behind her, swallowed the restorative ; 
then, fearing discovery, hastened to put the cup in the 
housekeeper’s room, and to go down again. She was 
received in ominous silence ; Miss Jones placed a chair 
beside the chess-table, on which she had been arrang- 
ing the men, talking pleasantly as she did so, and Net- 
tie, revived and determined to be in a good humor, be- 
gan her game. 

“One moment, if you please. I only wish to be pre- 
pared for the extraordinary mode of your proceedings. 
State whether you will be able to control your nervous 
condition sufficiently to remain seated during one game, 
and if not, whether you can rise quietly and walk out 
of the room. Really, my love, your inconsideration 
for my shattered condition fills me with amazement.” 

“Since the belladonna, I feel much better,” returned 
Nettie, pleasantly, “ and can play two games if you like.” 

“ That is well ; give my wife a footstool, Miss Jones, 
and a pillow behind her back ; place the belladonna on 
the table, and if you will kindly take a book, and not 
rustle the leaves, we will be as comfortable as is pos- 
sible for two such invalids.” 

“ Pray don’t call me an invalid,” laughed Nettie, “ I 
was only tired.” 


MRS. GREGORY. 


85 


“ Fatigue without cause indicates a very low state 
of the system. Now, my precious one, are you really 
going to move the Queen’s pawn ? ” 

“ I really am,” returned his antagonist, who would 
no more have dared to win the game than to have 
danced a minuet on the table. 

She had sold herself to gain a support for her mother 
and the children. She had, in addition, a home, food, 
fire, and clothes. Why should she complain ? Why is 
it that present sufferings so utterly annihilate the past ? 
Why is it that we perpetually reproach ourselves for 
being in a position which we entered with our eyes 
open, and according to the light vouchsafed them ? Is 
it because we do not trust ? Nettie was young — judge 
her kindly. 


CHAPTER X. 


Nettie's summers and winters passed in this same 
dreary round. Mr. Cowell required her constant pres^ 
ence, sometimes to read to him, sometimes to rub him, 
sometimes to write for him, sometimes giving her the 
relaxation of a drive or a walk, but always with him. 
Nettie used to think of the days when a dead body was 
chained to a prisoner, for, to all she cared for, his life 
was a death. She was not permitted to see her brother 
and sister. Their letters were first read by Mr. Cowell, 
often destroyed without their being given to her. Those 
that she saw gave evidence of improvement. This was 
her only comfort. Miss Jones sometimes succeeded in 
taking a letter for her to the office, but when it was 
answered Nettie had a weary examination to bear. 
Several letters came from Henry to her mother, but 
those she never was permitted to see. Miss Jones 
told her of their coming. The few visits she received 
she was not allowed to return. She occasionally went 
to church, but only when Mr. Cowell could accompany 
her. There was no life in her life. There was no growth. 
It was a dwarfed, dead tree. 

Yet Nettie struggled ; she tried to gain benefit from 
the lessons of patience and endurance. She tried to 
gain wisdom and consideration for others from the pain 
of her own sufferings. She even strove to lighten the 
burden that Miss Jones bore so brightly, for Miss 
Jones was as often trying to suppress a smile as a tear. 
“She can go away,” thought Nettie ; “ I cannot.” But 


MRS. GREGORY. 


87 


Miss Jones gave no indication of being dissatisfied. Her 
salary was small, but, as she asked, “ What do I need in 
this wilderness ? I am alone in the world, and this is a 
safe home.” So, though she was ever grateful for Net- 
tie’s small efforts, she really did not need help. Mr. 
Cowell grew visibly old. He passed his eightieth birth- 
day, and added the festivity of one of his drives to its 
weary hours. When he was eighty-two, he gave up 
selling flowers, and the bright beds were raked over, and 
the conservatories sold out. Nettie missed them, but 
James devoted his attention to the lawns and shrubs, 
and their green glory refreshed her. The old horses 
died, and were not replaced. John was dismissed. It 
was a relief to be spared that form of exercise. Nettie 
did not feel as strong as she used to feel. She had con- 
stant headaches, and a dull, heavy weariness in her 
brain. She could not sleep as she once did, and in the 
mornings was unrefreshed. Miss Jones regarded her 
with anxiety, but did not know what to do, for Mr. 
Cowell was as exacting as ever, and she was rarely alone 
with his wife. The letters from Henry by degrees 
nearly ceased to come. One day Miss Jones recognized 
one ; she told Nettie, and said she would try to get it for 
her. Nettie wondered at her own apathy about it. 
“ Am I, too, under the stone that I placed over his love ? 
I am glad I do not care for him now. Is my heart pal- 
sied ? ” She could not answer her own questions, every- 
thing seemed so unreal and dreamlike. Mr. Cowell was 
not unaware of the change in his young wife, and Miss 
Jones was doubly anxious as she saw a sort of wicked 
look as he watched her. “ Something must be done,” she 
said to herself ; “ that lovely nature and perfect physique 
will yield if I cannot save her.” Mr. Cowell was in his 
eighty-third year. Nettie had borne her chains for 
nearly four years. It was soon after the coming of 


88 


MRS. GREGORY. 


Henry’s last letter, sometime late in the winter, she had 
gone to bed with a headache, but was wakened suddenly 
from a troubled sleep by some sound. She could not 
tell what it was. Her husband was most unmistakably 
asleep, his windows and his doors wide open. She 
raised herself on her elbow to listen ; certainly a step in 
the hall ; she laid down again, and half closed her eyes to 
watch. A figure clothed in white, glided in. The poor 
child, in mortal terror of ghosts, either real or unreal, 
had no power to move. Lately she had heard less of 
her mother’s voice, but this figure looked like her 
mother. It went to Mr. Cowell’s secretary, opened it, 
opened one of the drawers, took out a paper then re- 
placed it, closed the secretary, and glided out of the 
room again. The moment the presence was removed 
Nettie’s courage returned, she sprang from her bed, 
went out into the hall, just in time to see the figure dis- 
appearing into a closet at the head of the stairs. Net- 
tie made one bound and opened the door. There was 
nothing there but brooms and dust-pans. The house- 
keeper’s door opened, and Miss Jones came out, her 
dressing-gown thrown around her, shading her eyes 
with her hand. 

“What is the matter ?” she exclaimed; “you will 
take cold ; do go back to bed.” 

“ I heard a step, followed it here, and now it has 
gone.” 

“ The step ? ” 

“No, the person, of course. I certainly saw some- 
one.” 

“ And I certainly heard someone. There is nothing 
here. How very odd ! This is the housemaid’s closet. 
This old house has the reputation of being haunted ; 
Mr. Cowell bought it cheap in consequence.” 

“Oh, dear ! I wish I were dead,” exclaimed Nettie. 


MRS. GREGORY. 89 

“ I no sooner think peace is coming when I am all put 
back again.” 

“ Do not be frightened. I will leave my door open. 
I am not afraid of natural or of supernatural beings. 
If there is any more noise I promise you to find out 
what it is.” 

On this Nettie, shivering with cold, crept into bed 
again, glad that her snoring spouse had not wak- 
ened. 

The next day she and Miss Jones found an opportu- 
nity of talking over their fright, but no elucidation of 
the mystery appeared. 

A week after this, Miss Jones told Nettie that Mr. 
Cowell had destroyed Henry’s letter, and only pre- 
served the envelope. 

“ Poor mother ! I wish she had it,” said Nettie. 

“ What an idea ! ” 

“ I mean I wish she were here to get it.” 

“ So do I. We had a most peaceful life while her 
sweet spirit was with us. Mr. Cowell was never so 
calm before.” 

“ Nettie ! where is my Nettie ? ” 

“ Here ! do you want me ? ” 

“ What a strange question ! Do I not always want 
you ? and now, my poor darling, more than ever, for 
you are not well, and my head feels strangely. Stand 
behind my chair, and rub it gently with your lovely 
hands. Their touch is enough to bring the dead to 
life.” 

Nettie was occupied in this weary performance until 
she could stand no longer. As usual, her husband went 
to sleep, but wakened whenever she stopped, and mur- 
mured : 

“ Go on, my treasure.” 

Miss Jones quietly placed a high chair for her, and 


90 


MRS. GREGORY. 


Nettie continued her ministrations until relieved by 
the announcement of dinner. One peculiarity of Mr. 
Cowell’s was to have meals at regular hours, but their 
character was very uncertain. Sometimes the luncheon 
table held the regular dinner, and tea came at dinner- 
time, at other times the dinner was the last meal. He 
was more and more restless, giving many signs of a 
strong constitution yielding to the weight of years of 
selfishness. The unselfish and kindly natures are those 
to whom old age comes gently. To one like Mr. 
Cowell, self-centred, annoyed if anyone were happy 
outside of the magic circle of his influence, the failing 
of the powers is made a burden by resistance and vex- 
ation. In one particular his strength was wonderful ; 
it was in his watchfulness of his wife. She was less 
able to bear it than at first ; and whether he really 
wished to torment her, or had some other motive, Miss 
Jones could not tell, but certain it was that he gave her 
no peace. He would hold her hand, and beg in a 
plaintive voice that she would control her restlessness, 
and let him have this little indulgence, and while ap- 
parently only wishing for quiet, would watch her as if 
he were trying how much she would bear. Bravely 
Nettie tried to endure this ; it seemed a small matter, 
but her poor head ached so ! 

“ Oh ! do let us walk,” she exclaimed one day. 

“ Certainly, anything for peace. My last years have 
a fearful burden. I never know what to expect. Miss 
Jones, bring Mrs. Cowell’s wraps. I am anxious about 
her. She is never quiet a moment, and now I must be 
walked to my grave.” 

“ Pray let me walk alone. Lie down ; let Saunders 
attend to you. I, too, want peace.” 

Seldom Nettie opposed him ; it never availed. His 
hands were over his ears. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


91 


“ Hasten, Miss Jones ; my poor darling is having a 
strange turn, she screams so ; ” and hastily rising, he 
took her arm and went outside, leaning so heavily upon 
her that she tottered, and, being unable to endure his 
weight, she begged to go in again. He raised his eyes, 
and prayed for patience. 

“ I am at your orders, my love ; what next ? ” 

Nettie utterly lost her self-control. She could run, 
he could not. She shook off his arm, and ran into the 
house, fairly screaming, “ Let me alone ! I ?nust y I must 
be alone ! ” and rushing to her room bolted the door, 
and sank on her sofa. Her head was throbbing — the 
pain was almost unendurable. “ I shall go mad," she 
thought ; “ oh, what will become of me ? Mother 
mother, now is the time to help me.” 

Miss Jones was near the door; she heard the cry, but 
all she could do was to keep Mr. Cowell away. A sud- 
den thought struck her. He had a pond of gold fish, 
that he much prized. She ran to the garden and re- 
moved a plug, which let the water out, then told 
James to tell Mr. Cowell. 

“ I can arrange it," said James. 

“ No, that will not do ; Mr. Cowell will be very angry ; 
I will send him out." James shrugged his shoulders, 
but suspected something was wrong, so he waited till 
the old man came to investigate this new trouble, be- 
moaning his hard fate as he approached. Miss Jones 
ran up to the door again ; all was quiet, Nettie had fall- 
en asleep. Two hours of repose in some measure 
restored her ; she waked relieved, and went down- 
stairs in some dread of reproof, but Mr. Cowell was 
interested in the difficulty of saving his fish ; many had 
gone down the stream into which the pond drained, 
and many times the story was repeated, of how he 
contrived to have them caught, and then his wonder 


92 MRS. GREGORY. 

of how the plug came out, till Nettie began to tire 
again. 

At last tea came, and chess, and then the merciful 
release of night, but the relief and the release were 
only temporary. 

There was no doubt that the young wife was 
threatened with an illness of some sort. She was 
flushed, her eyes sometimes heavy, sometimes unnat- 
urally bright. She was either in the deepest depres- 
sion or in the wildest spirits. When depressed, Mr. 
Cowell passed his time in sighing and shaking his 
head, when she was gay, he plaintively entreated her 
to remember his age and his nerves — that quiet was 
essential to him. One day Nettie received this with 
shrieks of laughter, at which Mr. Cowell, putting his 
hands to his ears, went to his writing-desk, and while 
writing, watched her in a way that gave Miss Jones the 
impression that he was describing her condition to 
some medical man. This astute person had very good 
reason to fear this proceeding on Mr. Cowell’s part, 
and strove in every way to sooth and control his wife. 
In this she failed ; Nettie either could not or would not 
make any effort at composure. The revelations from 
her mother had ceased ; if they had not, she would have 
been a maniac, for they excited her fearfully. The ap- 
prehensions of Miss Jones were confirmed when one 
morning Mr. Cowell announced that two of his friends 
would dine with them, and that he wished Mrs. Cowell 
to be present. That day Miss Jones endeavored to 
keep Nettie very quiet, but in vain ; she was restless, 
complained of headache, and was altogether unreason- 
able. “We are to have two gentlemen to dinner ; I 
think they are medical men ; do try to seem well, for I 
don’t think you would like such advice as Mr. Cowell 
would choose for you.” She did not tell her of what 


MRS. GREGORY. 


93 


she most dreaded, lest the end might be precipitated, 
but gave a silent thanksgiving that she could watch 
over the unsuspecting victim. 

Nettie expressed herself delighted at having “com- 
pany to dinner,” dressed in her brightest colors, and 
was radiant when she received the guests. Miss Jones 
was certain from their half-concealed watchfulness and 
Mr. Cowell’s false and yet evident attempts at extreme 
gentleness, that Nettie’s fate was sealed unless some 
stronger power than hers could avert it. Every possi- 
ble mode of escape was presenting itself in turn to this 
faithful friend ; she even thought of running away and 
hiding, but where and how. Dr. Conolly the well- 
known philanthropist, was visiting in the neighborhood, 
he was well known to Miss Jones, and to him she de- 
termined to apply that very night. This resolution 
gave her some comfort, so that she could give all her 
attention to keeping the conversation at dinner on or- 
dinary and unexciting themes. It was of no use ; every 
antipathy of Nettie’s was brought out by Mr. Cowell. 
She was led to express herself strongly on all her vari- 
ous aversions, and sometimes pathetically, sometimes 
with a merry laugh, would appeal to her guests to 
support her position. In vain Miss Jones tried ; 
Nettie’s girlish follies were magnified, and her absurd 
speeches applauded, until there was no doubt in the 
mind of even the housekeeper that there was some 
serious brain-trouble. She laughed till she was ex- 
hausted, and then putting her hand to her head, rose, 
and asking to be excused, left the room. Miss Jones 
remained ; she wanted to follow Nettie, but was more 
anxious to hear what might be said. The guests, who- 
ever they were — they had been presented as Mr. 
Adam and Mr. Warren — were too acute for her. No 
sort of remark was made, excepting regret that Mrs. 


94 


MRS. GREGORY. 


Cowell was obliged to leave. Miss Jones had to retire 
at last, but in some way best known to herself, suc- 
ceeded in hearing Mr. Cowell say, “ My poor wife’s 
condition is, I fear, only too evident.” 

“ Yes, yes ; there is no doubt. We can make her per- 
fectly comfortable, perhaps cure her, but we prefer — 
er — er — to select our own attendant for her.” 

“ Of course,” said Mr. Cowell, “and I will make all 
arrangements next week, say on the Tuesday.” 

That was enough ; Miss Jones had heard all that was 
necessary. They were afraid of her, and she had four 
days in which to save her charge, for in this light she 
considered Nettie ever since her mother’s death. 

She found the poor girl lying on her sofa, with wide, 
open eyes, and a burning face. A look of terror sur- 
prised her friend. “ Keep them away ; ” whispered 
Nettie; “oh, they have such dreadful eyes ; I nearly 
screamed when they looked at me.” 

“ They shall not harm you, dear,” replied Miss Jones 
in a low voice, her only mode, apparently, of speaking 
without the squeak. “ Will you promise me to stay 
quietly here while I go out for an hour ; Mr. Cowell 
will stay with his guests while they smoke.” 

Nettie promised as well as she could ; she was nearly 
insensible from the pressure on her brain. Then, clad 
in garments that could not be distinguished from the 
night itself, Miss Jones softly left the house. She had 
a mile to walk, but fear was not one of her weaknesses. 
She safely reached the house where the great doctor 
and great-hearted philanthropist was visiting. “ Can I 
see Dr. Conolly ? ” she asked of the astonished servant, 
who knew “ the lady with the green shade,” by sight. 

“ Walk in the library, and I will tell the doctor. What 
name, please ? ” 

“Miss Jones, on business,” was the reply. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


95 


No application ever failed to receive attention from 
this famous physician. His care of the insane, his 
home at Hanwell, were known to all. 

“ How can I serve you, madam ? ” asked the kindly 
voice, a soothing balm in its every tone. 

For once Miss Jones lifted her green shade, and for 
his sake bore the light upon her “poor, weak eyes.” 

“ You ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ Yes,” she replied, smiling, “ accept me as I am now, 
for I have a sad story for you ; I came as Mr. Cowell’s 
housekeeper, Miss Jones.” 

She then told him the whole story. All about the 
insanity of the first wife, and the dangerous condition 
of the present one. All that the reader knows, and 
more, was revealed to the attentive listener. 

“Adam and Warren, did you say ? I know no such 
men, and I know about all who are engaged in this ne- 
farious business.” 

“ I think the names were assumed and, by the by,” 
said Miss Jones, “ I remember, as they were in the hall, 
I heard one call the other Matson.” 

“ Matson ! That will do, I know now. To-morrow I 
will call on Mr. Cowell — he often supplies me with 
flowers. Try and let me see his wife ; I will give my 
opinion after that. We will save her; do not despair. 
I can frighten Matson, if I am sure of the man.” 

Do any of my readers know what it is to cast a bur- 
den of care upon another who is able to bear it ? The 
relief to Miss Jones was so great that she could scarcely 
stand. Dr. Conolly said kindly, “ Try to explain the 
revelations as soon as you can, and trust me.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


When Miss Jones returned, the guests were just 
leaving ; a fly was at the door, and standing in the dark- 
ness she overheard the name of the station to which 
they were to drive. “ To-morrow I will know what 
tickets they took,” she thought. She threw off her 
wraps under one of the windows, and entered unper- 
ceived, just in time to answer Mr. Cowell’s inquiries for 
her. He was very nervous and agitated, made no ref- 
erence to Mrs. Cowell, but sent for his medicine-chest, 
and mixed a dose for himself, talking in an incoherent 
way all the time. “ Will you rub my foot, Miss Jones ? ” 
he asked ; “ it has been numb all dinner-time. I 
thought those men would never go.” 

Miss Jones rubbed the numb foot, but without giving 
any relief ; the numbness increased. She was totally 
indifferent as to whether he was numb all over or not, 
but was most anxious to get to Nettie. Presently 
Saunders appeared at the door, requesting to speak 
with Miss Jones. 

“What is it ?” she asked ; “ I cannot leave Mr. Cow- 
ell.” 

Saunders signified by a motion that she was needed 
up-stairs, but only replied, “ Mrs. Cowell will remain 
in her sitting-room to-night.” 

“ I am glad of it,” exclaimed Mr. Cowell, “ I’m 
tired of her everlasting headaches. What do you sup- 
pose I married her for? Certainly not to be entertained 
by such a child. No ; I married her for her superb 


MRS. GREGORY. 


97 


health, of which I hoped to gain sufficient to keep me 
alive for a few years, without injuring her. I am very 
susceptible to magnetic influences, and believe that I 
receive benefit by keeping the current steadily up. All 
I needed was her touch, but she is so restless I could 
not keep her quiet. Surely it was a small favor to ask 
to have her hand always upon me, in return for all I 
have done for her. I waited till her mother died ; I 
disposed of the children, and simply required to hold 
her hand, or in especial cases to have her rub me. But 
she has fretted and fidgeted me into the grave. She 
has killed me, I hate her. Call Saunders ; I must go 
up-stairs ; such a strange weakness and numbness ! ” 

Miss Jones watched him curiously as for the first 
time he actually tottered. “ Is retribution coming to 
the old wretch ?” she asked of her inmost self. “Was 
there ever such an abominably selfish old sinner ? His 
devotion is explained now, poor Nettie! She must be 
saved, whatever happens to him.” The real sufferer 
was found to be delirious ; there was no doubt of her 
condition now. Her head and hands were burning 
with fever ; the housemaid was crying over her, as she 
piteously besought her mother to come and take her 
away from this dreadful place. “ They have such aw- 
ful eyes, oh, take me away,” she pleaded. 

“ Yes, darling, you shall go away; no one shall trouble 
you any more,” whispered Miss Jones ; “ lie quietly and 
trust to me.” Nettie seemed to hear, and made no op- 
position as she was undressed and placed in a bed 
which they made up for her in her sitting-room ; she 
seemed less restless, so that the housekeeper left her to 
see in what condition Mr. Cowell* was, hoping to find 
him asleep, in which case she might get Dr. Conolly 
to see her charge. Unfortunately all the doors and 
windows were wide open, as usual, but she must risk 


9 8 


MRS. GREGORY. 


it. She heard the trembling voice faintly saying, “ Rub, 
rub.” 

“ Who is that ? ” he asked, as she passed the door. 

“It is I ; can I do anything for you ?” 

“ No ; I want Mrs. Cowell. She is better than the 
rest of you, weak as she is. Send her. Tell her she 
must come.” 

“ She is too ill ; her head aches severely ; I have 
just put her in bed,” replied Miss Jones, wondering at 
the strange expression on the old man’s face. 

“ Nonsense, she can come well enough. She must 
come.” 

“I will send her as soon as she is able,” was the firm 
answer as she left him, for she was well convinced that 
whatever might be the reason, the old tyrant was unable 
to rise, and there was no danger of his going to his wife. 

It was very late ; the hall clock was striking twelve, 
but she saw a light in the room over the stable where 
James slept, and soon ran across the lawn and roused 
him, telling him to go at once for Dr. Conolly. “Get 
him in the dining-room quietly ; I will leave the hall 
door ajar, and will be watching. Both Mr. and Mrs. 
Cowell are very ill.” 

Saunders met her as she returned. “ He is asleep,” he 
said, “ but breathes awful oneasy. Is anythink amiss 
with him, ma’am ? ” 

“ I do not know,” she replied, “ he looks very 
strangely. I will have a medical man soon.” 

HI didn’t know but as his sins is proved too much 
for him,” said Saunders, who had small respect for his 
master. “ Them men that were here to dinner, weren’t 
here for no good. You’d better keep a look out for 
our young lady.” 

“We must all do the best we can ; I think we 
save her,” was the reply. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


99 


“You’ll have to get supernateral sperits to help, if 
you’re a goin to get ahead of Mr. Cowell,” returned 
the man, as he went back to his charge. 

“ I will not fear," she said to herself. “ Such a ter- 
rible thing cannot happen.” But terrible things do 
happen, even in guarded and protected homes, and 
Miss Jones shivered as she pictured what might be. 
“ I will take her away ; we can hide somewhere ; I know 
that old horror wants to get rid of her. Why did I 
never think of his magnetic craze ? That explains his 
persistent devotion — only selfishness.” She went to the 
head of the stairs to watch both the door and the pa- 
tients. 

Mr. Cowell slept audibly. Nettie tossed and groaned 
and talked to her mother, and begged to see Willy and 
little Kate, poor child ! Willy and Kate were far 
away ; would they be children when she saw them 
again ! Miss Jones went to her, and she and the house- 
maid took turns in bathing the hot brow, watching 
and listening. Presently a softly opened door and a 
quiet step, followed by a signal from James, summoned 
the housekeeper. The good, tireless man, was there. 

“She is very ill ; wait a moment, till I listen for Mr. 
Cowell ; he would gladly poison me if he knew of 
this; ’’and Miss Jones ventured to the door of the 
sleeping man. His position was peculiar, his breath- 
ing amounting to a roar. “ Safe enough,” she thought, 
Dr. Conolly was brought up-stairs ; he listened a mo- 
ment. 

“Let me see Mr. Cowell,” he said. 

“Not for worlds, see her first,” and he yielded. 

Nettie took no notice of him, then said : 

“Oh, papa, put your hand on my head, dear papa. 
I called and called for mamma, but she won’t come 
she put out her burning hand to the good doctor. 


100 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ My little girl,” he said, “ I have something to give 
you ; take it for me.” 

“ Yes, dear papa,” she said, opening her mouth, “ I’m 
so glad you are come.” 

Presently she began to talk to her mother again, 
begging her to come. 

It was very sad, but Sir John knew the symptoms ; it 
was the delirium of brain fever, not mental derange- 
ment. “ Mrs. Cowell will have a serious illness,” he 
said ; “ she must have a nurse, and be entirely removed 
from noise and every disturbance.” 

Miss Jones simply said in a low voice, “ I only have 
till the Tuesday.” 

Sir John looked grave. “ Do nothing more till I 
have seen Mr. Cowell ; I heard a peculiar sound from 
him ; there is something the matter.” 

He left the housekeeper to follow his directions in 
regard to Nettie, and went to the room from where a 
strange, suppressed roaring, proceeded. Saunders was 
standing beside his master, with a puzzled look. 

“ Somethin’ strange, sir,” said he, respectfully, sup- 
posing Sir John was the medical man. 

“ How long since he has spoken ? ” he asked. 

“ It’s nigh a ’arf hour since he spoke reg’lar, then he 
began that noise.” 

“ He is partly paralyzed,” was the reply ; “ who is his 
regular attendant ? I came only to see Mrs. Cowell.” 

“ He didn’t never have none. He takes little pills, 
an’ powders, an’ mixes ’em himself. Miss Jones knows 
all about them.” 

“Try to make him swallow this ; be careful, lest he 
cannot swallow ; if there is difficulty, do nothing for the 
present. I will inquire of Miss Jones in regard to 
sending for some one.” Sir John turned to go. 

“There was some suspicious lookin’ fellers here to 


MRS. GREGORY. 


IOI 


dinner, ” said Saunders, as he accompanied the physi- 
cian through the hall. “ What shall I do if they come 
again ? I don’t know who is the head when he an’ 
Mrs. Cowell is both took ill.” 

‘‘You can have full confidence in Miss Jones ; she 
understands all about those men, and must for the pres- 
ent give directions. I will take charge of Mrs. Cowell, 
and will send for a medical man for Mr. Cowell,” he 
replied. 

Saunders returned to his charge, fully satisfied that 
whoever the strange man was, he knew what he was 
about, and that care and kindness and justice would 
be assured if he took the direction of affairs. 

Jane was left in charge of Mrs. Cowell, while Sir 
John and Miss Jones held a conference. 

“ I think Mr. Cowell will die, but it may be some 
weeks ; we will put him in the care of Martin, who 
knows me and to whom I will give some points. The 
Matson matter had better not transpire ; unfortunately, 
Mr. Cowell may have given a permission in writing 
to remove Mrs. Cowell. If I were sure he had not, I 
would have no embarrassment, but I cannot remain 
longer than Monday, and she might be forcibly re- 
moved if Mr. Cowell is living on Tuesday.” 

Still Miss Jones looked hopeful ; she was so sure that 
the great man would see some way of escape. 

“Could we not go somewhere and hide ?” she asked. 

“A part of your idea has occurred to me. It would 
virtually be hiding, but must not be actually so. I dis- 
like anything underhand, but while Mr. Cowell lives his 
written order to Matson will be in force. The fellow 
with him gives the medical opinion on which Matson 
acts. I have controverted them before this. Have you 
any friend living in any out-of-the-way place, where you 
could both be comfortable — and how about money?” 


102 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“My year’s salary has just been paid ; I think Mr. 
Cowell intended to dismiss me. This will support us 
until Mrs. Cowell recovers. If nothing can be done 
legally, and Mr. Cowell lives, I will work for her.” 

“You owe her some reparation,” said Sir John, with 
a kind smile, “ and I see no other way to save her.” 

“ If she can be moved, we can go to a place where I 
boarded ; it is near Ambleside, a quiet house ; a widow 
lives quite alone ; but she could not go as she is now.” 

“ No, but by Monday she may be in a different con- 
dition. Write at once to your friend, post the letter 
yourself, have the answer sent under cover to me. We 
have hardly time, and I wish no one to know where she 
is, excepting Mr. Cowell’s lawyer. Can he be trusted ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed ; Selwyn, you may tell him everything ; 
there, that is daylight, the night has past. I had better 
see Mr. Selwyn and arrange about leaving the house in 
charge of some one.” 

“Yes, or you remain here, and I send some one with 
Mrs. Cowell.” 

“ I do not like to leave her, and yet if Mr. Cowell 
dies, some one ought to be here.” 

“We will leave this till to-morrow, in fact, it is to- 
day, Friday. I will see them both once more.” 

Nettie was more quiet, but her cries for her mother 
were still most piteous. “ Don’t talk to me any more, 
mamma,” she said ; “just come and take care of me.” 

Sir John glanced at Miss Jones, who looked deeply 
distressed. 

“She will recover,” he said ; “but it was unfortun- 
ate. Now for Cowell.” 

The old man was just in the same condition. Saun- 
ders was asleep. 

“ He may live for weeks. I will send Martin. Now 
go and rest a few hours ; lie down on the sofa in Mrs. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


103 


Cowell’s room ; don’t be anxious about her, I will re- 
turn before there is any change, and I will write that 
letter for you ; give me the address ; keep calm, all will 
go well.” 

Miss Jones was really exhausted, and began to show 
signs of the mental and physical strain which her kind 
adviser recognized. He never wearied while his care 
was needed. The address was to Mrs. Woener, Amble- 
side. 

“ She is a German, and her letters are sent to Amble- 
side, but she rarely goes to the post. I fear she may 
not receive it.” 

“ I will telegraph that a letter will explain ; that will 
make all sure. We must leave Sunday or Monday 
night. Now take your rest when you can ; I will ex- 
plain more fully to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


There was quiet for some hours at the Cowell house. 
Saunders slept ; his master was apparently unconscious; 
he breathed with less difficulty. Nettie sank into a 
sort of stupor. Miss Jones, after giving directions to 
Jane for the other servants, and telling her to close the 
house and go to bed, took Sir John’s advice to rest 
while she could. She knew there was much trouble 
and anxiety before her, and that all her strength would 
be needed. It was the calm before the storm, but it 
was merciful, for sleep restored the strength of the 
watchers, and the sun had long been trying to enter 
the east rooms, before anyone roused to the cares of the 
day. At last Saunders waked, stiff and cold, although 
he had ventured to close some of the windows. Mr. 
Cowell was in exactly the same condition, excepting, 
to the horror of the man, he slowly opened his eyes. It 
was evidently the only motion he could make. He was 
entirely paralyzed. He could not move, nor speak, 
nor swallow. 

“Well, if ever there was an old cove come up with, 
this ere is the one," muttered the man as he vainly tried 
to induce him to open his mouth to take what Sir John 
had left for him. There was no use in trying ; the eyes 
opened and closed, that was all. Jane came up as 
Saunders stood there. 

“Well of all the hawful things ! ” she exclaimed. 

The eyes opened upon her. 

“Laws a massy,” she ejaculated, as she fled, “come 
to your breakfast. I can’t stay.” 


MRS. GREGORY . 


105 


“ Wimmin is such cowards,” said Saunders, “ an I 
don no as I can do anythink. I may as well have my 
breakfast.” 

So Mr. Cowell was left to face his condition by him- 
self. He probably heard all that was said, and knew 
exactly what had befallen him, but we will not try to 
follow his thoughts. He might or might not improve 
the time vouchsafed him. Let us hope he did. 

Miss Jones waked, as Jane, who had come up very 
carefully, rushed back again to the safe shelter of the 
kitchen, where all the events of the day and night were 
thoroughly discussed, including the visit of Messrs. 
Adam & Co. 

James explained that the strange gentleman who was 
so kind was Sir John Conolly, a friend of Miss Jones, 
by which discovery Miss Jones reached an unexpected 
altitude in the respect of the servants, with whom she 
was always popular. 

“ He is a visitin’ over at the Perrys, an’ I went after 
him after Mr. Cowell was took ill. He an’ she ’ll take 
care of ’em, I warrant. Sarah, over at Perry’s, says he 
has an hinstitooton for the hinsane. I think if he’d a 
took Mr. Cowell there some time ago, Mrs. Cowell 
would a been all right. Of all the haggravatin’ beins, 
he is the haggravatinest.” 

To which they all agreed. A ring at the bell, and 
another from Mrs. Cowell’s room, sent Jane and Saun- 
ders to their duties. 

Dr. Martin, as sent for and prepared by Sir John, 
came to take charge of Mr. Cowell. Saunders took 
him upstairs. He recognized the condition of his pa- 
tient, and succeeded in communicating with him by 
requesting him to open or close his eyes in reply. This 
was all he could do. Saunders was warned that his 
master could both hear and see, but that there was 


io 6 


MRS. GREGORY. 


nothing that could be done unless there was some 
change. 

“ Lor ! will he starve to death ?” asked the man, un- 
guardedly. 

Dr. Martin gave him a warning look. “ I hope he 
will soon be able both to swallow and to speak,” he re- 
plied. At this the eves closed. 

When Miss Jones woke, Nettie was apparently asleep. 
Jane was placed beside her, while the good housekeeper 
went for some refreshment. Several heavy cares 
pressed upon her. Removing Mrs. Cowell was a great 
responsibility, supporting her for an indefinite time was 
another. The salary would not last very long. If Mr. 
Cowell lived, what would become of them ? If he 
died, to whom would he leave his property ? Amid 
these revolving thoughts a memory came of the kind 
advice given her by Mrs. Stepney before she died : 
“ Live one day at a time, my dear,” she had said ; “ We 
only have sunlight for one day. We do not work by 
the light of the moon. Do each day’s duties as best 
you can.” Miss Jones determined to try and act on 
this rule. She knew her present duties ; they were 
very clearly defined. The first was to see Mr. Cowell. 
She was really shocked by his condition, and his actual 
danger of starving. His eyes opened pleadingly ; she at 
once told him of Mrs. Cowell’s illness, and that it was 
brain fever ; he seemed to hear. She then asked for 
the usual allowance of money for weekly expenses, tell- 
ing him to close his eyes if he wished her to take it 
from his money-drawer. He signified his assent. She 
counted out twice the usual sum, showed it to him, tell- 
ing him that she needed it for the extra expenses of 
illness. He made no sign, and then she left him to 
Saunders’ care. Sir John soon came to see his patient, 
who was unconscious but quiet. He gave orders and 


MRS. GREGORY. 


10 7 


prepared remedies, saying, “ I am treating her in prep- 
aration for her removal ; when she is safely away from 
here, we must pursue a different plan. Meanwhile we 
must see Mr. Selwyn, and explain all fully to him, if 
you are sure he is safe.” 

“ I am perfectly sure of him ” 

Nettie murmured, “ Henry ! ” 

“ Who ? ” asked Sir John. 

“ She was engaged to marry him, but poverty obliged 
her to accept Mr. Cowell,” whispered the housekeeper, 
who knew the whole story from Mrs. Stepney. 

The kind heart of Sir John needed nothing addi- 
tional to add to his interest and care, but it seemed as 
if his tone was more pitying than ever, as he turned 
toward the flushed face, and felt the pulse that beat so 
irregularly and heavily. 

The lawyer was sent for. It took him some time to 
grasp the changes wrought in twenty-four hours, but he 
had no difficulty in believing anything bad of Mr. 
Cowell, and professed his deep interest in his wife, of 
whose removal, under Sir John’s care, he entirely ap- 
proved. He proposed, as an additional safeguard, that 
Mrs. Cowell should be known as Mrs. Gregory, taking 
her husband’s second name, which was not generally 
known — certainly not by Matson. That Miss Jones 
should remain, he considered imperative, and she reluc- 
tantly consented to do so. From all the symptoms it 
seemed probable she would not long be detained. 
After he had gone, there was nothing to do but to 
watch the patients, until the letter came from Mrs. 
Woener. For certain reasons, known only to herself 
and Sir John, Miss Jones was suffering from a sort of 
remorse. She was not wholly guiltless as a cause of 
Mrs. Cowell’s illness, although she had not intended to 
do her a wrong, but every expression of suffering had 


io8 


MRS. GREGORY. 


its sting for the housekeeper. Her care was unremit- 
ting, but one cannot always atone for a wrong, and 
Miss Jones knew that she had not atoned. 

Saturday and Sunday passed ; Monday brought Mrs. 
Woener’s letter ; she was very glad to do anything 
for any friend of Miss Stainer’s— for by this name she 
knew Mr. Cowell’s housekeeper ; her rooms would be 
ready on the Tuesday. 

“We must remove her on Monday night,” said Sir 
John ; “ my nurse will be at the station. Have the 
house quiet as early as possible ; the fewer who can 
trace us the better. Can Mr. Cowell’s door be closed ? ” 

“ He cannot prevent it now,” was the reply. 

No food or water could be swallowed by Mr. Cowell ; 
he still could only open and close his eyes. It was a ter- 
rible situation, and one that might continue for some 
time. He evidently retained his always acute hearing, 
and no one could help feeling sorrow for his fearful 
condition. He could give no sign. 

Monday night came ; Nettie seemed to understand, 
and weakly tried to help the preparations. She called 
Sir John “ Papa,” he always replying, “ Yes, my daugh- 
ter.” 

Mr. Cowell’s door was closed ; the faithful Saunders 
slept in an arm-chair beside his master. The servants 
were sent to bed. The express which passed the sta- 
tion at one o’clock had been ordered to stop. The new 
nurse had taken a whole compartment, and was ready 
to receive her patient. Nettie gave no trouble ; she 
looked dazed, but an unmistakable wave of relief passed 
over her face as she was put in the carriage with Sir 
John. 

“We will go to mamma,” she said. 

“Yes, my daughter,” said the loving and soothing 
voice. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


109 


She bore the change and the journey very well, ac- 
cepting the new attendant without question ; in fact she 
seemed to have no power of recognition, excepting for 
Sir John. He watched her carefully, knowing that she 
had a long and weary illness before her, he having 
simply kept her in a condition to bear the journey. The 
illness was deferred. 

Mrs. Woener’s cottage proved to be all that was 
necessary. Nettie was soon comfortably placed in bed ; 
every preparation made for the illness that had only 
been held in abeyance. Those who know of Sir John 
Conolly, and of his fully-occupied life, will understand 
that he could not remain with his patient — imperative 
duties called him to Hanwell. He placed the case in 
the care of the Ambleside physician, promised to return 
each week, and requested all letters to be sent to his 
care. The reason of the precautions was to defeat 
Matson, if he should in any way trace her. There was 
not much danger, for the nefarious business in which 
he was engaged was not one that sought out cases in 
open daylight, and sufficient warning was given to Mrs. 
Woener, to the nurse and the physician. Besides this, 
Sir John having introduced Nettie as Mrs. Gregory, 
and Miss Jones being only known to them as Miss 
Stainer, there seemed little danger. If anything or any 
change made his presence necessary, he promised to be 
with them as soon as possible. After this, he was 
obliged to return home, where his own houseful of pa- 
tients always needed him. Can there be a truer philan- 
thropy than such as was his care of the insane ? They 
were not only in comfort and luxury with him, but were 
treated according to their positions in life, their mental 
aberrations respected and guarded, and their tastes con- 
sulted. At one time Mr. Edwin Forrest, who was study- 
ing the character of Hamlet, consulted Sir John in re- 


IIO 


MRS. GREGORY. 


gard to it. After some conversation, Sir John invited 
him to dine, only remarking, as if casually, “ I must ask 
you to allow me to lead the conversation ; some of the 
guests whom I will invite to meet you have peculiar 
political views." 

The dinner passed off delightfully, the guests were 
all from the higher ranks of life, intellectual people, and 
some highly gifted. After dinner, when showing the 
grounds to his guest, Mr. Forrest said to him, “ I have 
discovered your secret." 

“ How ? " asked Sir John. 

“I found it impossible to catch the eye of any one of 
your friends. Although there was not a word that the 
most perfectly sane might not utter, not an eye was 
ever fixed on one." 

Miss Jones was once for a few months a housekeeper 
at this establishment, and in this way knew how 
thoroughly she could trust Nettie to the care of Sir 
John, if she could interest him in her case. What he 
did for her, proved how wisely the judgment was 
formed. 

To return to Cowell House. The morning after 
Nettie was safely removed, Jane came rushing in her 
most excited way to tell Miss Jones that Mrs. Cowell 
was not in her room, “ nor nowheres." 

“ She went away last night, to stay with a friend. I 
had her removed when all was quiet, to prevent her 
being excited by seeing people, and also because you 
know the light distressed her so much. She is quite 
safe, Jane, and much better away now, for Mr. Cowell 
cannot live, and we may have some confusion here soon.” 

Jane was quite pacified, but when the hour for gos- 
sip came in the kitchen, she said, “ I hope Miss Jones 
hasn’t been a puttin’ her in no asylum ; she isn’t one bit 
crazy — just out of her head like." 


MRS. GREGORY, III 

k 

“Lor’,” said th’e cook, “them men that was here to 
dinner never took her, do you think ?” 

Jane did not intend to deceive, but the temptation to 
know a great deal more than the others was upon her, 
so she shook her head wisely, replying, “Miss Jones 
knows. I suppose she means well, but my opinion is 
she’d a been safer in her own house.” Whereupon the 
servants decided that Mrs. Cowell was in some insane 
asylum. An interview that Mr. Adam, whom Sir John 
knew as Matson, had that day with Miss Jones and Mr. 
Selwyn, strengthened them in this idea. If they had 
seen the half-concealed rage of Mr. Adanfwhen he left 
the house and entered a carriage in which were two 
assistants, they might have been convinced that he was 
not in charge of their mistress. 

Saunders reported Mr. Cowell as “that fidgety, that 
he seemed like a lion in a cage.” There was no diffi- 
culty in knowing why, by the two who knew the guilt 
of the old man ; perhaps he heard the movements in 
the night ; perhaps he heard Matson’s voice in the 
morning. Certainly there was a questioning look in 
his wide-open eyes that touched the hearts of both 
Miss Jones and the lawyer as they went together to his 
bedside. 

“Mrs. Cowell is more comfortable to-day,” said Miss 
Jones, cheerfully. “ I spent a part of the money in 
adding to her wardrobe, and in other things for her.” 

Such a puzzled look came into the eyes that Miss 
Jones, who could not be sorry for him very long, could 
scarcely keep from laughing. Then there was, indeed, 
the caged-lion look, and she added, “ I wish we knew 
how to relieve you. If you could only tell us ! Would 
you like to be rubbed ? Close your eyes if you mean 
yes.” 

The eyes remained open. 


1 12 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ Would you like to see Mr. Selwyn alone ? ” 

The eyes closed. Miss Jones and Saunders left the 
room. The lawyer told him to try to keep composed ; 
that his affairs were all perfectly understood. If he re- 
covered, he would find that every care had been taken 
of them ; if he died, the directions in his will would be 
carefully complied with. Still the eyes were open. 
There was something else. “Mrs. Cowell is very ill 
with brain fever ; she has every possible care, and you 
need have no anxiety in regard to her. Some person — 
a Mr. Adam — called to inquire for her to-day, but did 
not see her, and he returned home.” Then the eyes 
closed, and the lawyer knew that the sin was at least 
regretted, for Mr. Cowell was comparatively at rest. 

“Oh !” said Miss Jones, “do you think he had suf- 
fered enough ? I wanted him to have one anxious 
day.” 

“Yes, he has suffered enough,” said the lawyer, 
gravely ; “ he ought to know the truth. Remember, he 
will starve to death. Do not add one more pang.” 

A month passed. Mr. Cowell died, as he had lived 
for several weeks, unable to speak, to move, or to swal- 
low. Nothing was left undone that was possible. He 
was kept informed of his wife’s condition, and supposed 
she was in her room. Her illness was very severe ; but 
before he died she began to recover. This he was told. 
One morning when Saunders woke, his master was 
dead. There was no grief. There were no relatives to 
mourn him ; the funeral was private, and he was buried 
according to directions held by Mr. Selwyn. The ser- 
vants were dismissed, some one put in charge of the 
house, and Miss Jones, who had been faithful to the 
end, accompanied by Mr. Selwyn, went first to London, 
thence to Hanwell to consult with Sir John, and then 
to Mrs. Woener’s. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


ii 3 

When she reached London she left off her green 
shade, ceased to speak in a squeaking voice, and 
amazed Mr. Selwyn by losing about twenty years in 
age, and coming out a handsome young woman. This 
transformation she explained to him. Mr. Cowell had 
advertised for a middle-aged housekeeper ; the salary 
and situation were good, so she adopted this mode of 
disguising her good looks, and had successfully posed 
for a weak-eyed woman of fifty, calling herself Jones, 
during all her residence at the Cowell house. More 
than this she told him. She was a daughter of Mrs. 
Stepney’s sister, and had come from India expecting to 
live with her aunt. Failing to find her, she was cast 
upon her own resources, and had varying experiences 
as nursemaid, and as housekeeper for Sir John, who at 
one time needed a temporary supply, and then for Mr. 
Cowell. Then, to her utter amazement, she found 
that the bride for whom he told her to prepare was her 
own cousin, and that Mrs. Stepney was the aunt for 
whom she had vainly sought. She dared not disclose 
this for fear of being dismissed, so she carefully 
watched first over her aunt, to whom she confided her 
secret, and then devoted herself to endeavoring to make 
her cousin’s position more endurable. Fortunately, by 
never opposing Mr. Cowell, she had gained his confi- 
dence, and was able to do much for his wife. 

“ Somehow,” she said, “ I never gained the affections 
of my cousin. She tried so hard to be loyal to her ex- 
asperating husband that she resented all of my little 
deceptions by which I could have helped her. I loved 
her for it, but it vexed me, too. Then I could talk just 
as my aunt did, and I imitated her voice till I fright- 
ened the poor child so that I shall have no peace till 
she recovers.” 

8 


MRS. GREGORY. 


114 

The lawyer shook his head in dismay. He could not 
see why all this deception was necessary. 

He would not , Miss Jones thought ; but she was under 
the impression that she had acted for the best ; so she 
cast off her cares with her confession, came out as Miss 
Stainer, and asked no forgiveness. For Nettie she re- 
served what little penitence she felt. She was not a 
perfect character, but had one admirable quality highly 
developed : it was self-sacrifice, and her work was not 
yet done. 

Nettie had sufficiently recovered to be informed of 
her relationship to the housekeeper, for whose coming 
she anxiously waited. She was not well enough to be 
moved ; therefore Mr. Selwyn was to go to her with 
her husband’s will, which was only to be opened in her 
presence. 

After two days at Hanwell, which is near London, 
Miss Stainer and Mr. Selwyn bade farewell to their kind 
friend and adviser, and went together to the lake dis- 
trict, where the carriage that waited for them at the 
station soon took them to Mrs. Woener’s cottage. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A cottage covered with vines and roses, the bloom 
pierced here and there by windows. A porch half- 
hidden under ivy vines and bright flowers. Under the 
shade and shelter, in a comfortable easy chair, with 
Mrs. Woener standing beside her, was Nettie, very 
pale but very lovely, with an expression of peace and 
rest that gave an added beauty to her girlish face. A 
closely-fitting cap made her look even younger, though 
she would gladly have had her beautiful hair restored, 
that had been sacrificed during her illness. She was 
still weak, unable to bear any excitement, but un- 
mistakably recovering. A week before this day, Sir 
John himself broke to her the varied and startling 
news of her husband’s death, omitting its fearful 
character, and of the ci-devatit housekeeper’s relation- 
ship to herself. He also explained her simulation of 
her mother’s voice, and her ghostly endeavor to get 
possession of Henry’s letter. “ She is an odd person,” 
he added, smiling ; “ certainly meaning to do right, 
but rather regardless of how it is accomplished. You 
will find her ready to devote her life to you, for she is 
filled with remorse at having frightened you.” 

“She certainly did frighten me dreadfully, and I 
somehow never felt at ease with her ; then I never 
wanted to deceive Mr. Cowell, and she constantly did 
this. In some way I failed with Mr. Cowell ; I meant 
to do my duty, but when he held my hand my strength 
all seemed to leave me, and a strange desire to escape 


n6 


MRS. GREGORY. 


from him was irresistible. I wish I could have done 
more for him.” 

“You have nothing to reproach yourself with, my 
child ; he was an exasperating tyrant. Forget him ; 
let him pass from your life. Now, let me ask one 
question : Do you wish any effort made to find the 
‘ Henry ’ of whom you used to talk in your illness ?” 

Nettie's face flushed the deepest crimson. 

“No, dear friend, not yet — perhaps never. In a 
year or two he may find me, if he wishes to do so. He 
can have no difficulty in this. It is not for me to look 
for him, and certainly I have no right to think of him 
now. Please forget that I spoke his name.” 

So Sir John left her in her peaceful home, and at 
last the day came when she was watching for her cousin 
and Mr. Selwyn. 

“They are coming!” she exclaimed, as a carriage 
drove rapidly to the gate. 

“ You darling, you precious creature,” were the 
words that amazed Nettie, for they came from a beau- 
tiful young girl, who was laughing and crying over 
her. “ I thought I should never get here. How 
lovely you do look ! Oh — can it be possible you don’t 
know me ? I am Alice — I am Miss Jones, the wretched 
deception with the green shade.” 

Nettie could hardly be made to believe in the trans- 
formation, and as she held Mr. Selwyn’s hand, said, 
“ Is this really Alice ? Am I to believe her ? ” 

“ You may,” replied the lawyer, laughing ; “ she 
changed more gradually to me, and on the whole I 
prefer her in her present guise, though what form she 
will take on the morrow I cannot tell.” 

“ You are a traitor,” replied Alice ; “ you know I 
have repented of all my sins, and my life is to be de- 
voted to this dear old lady, who looks about twelve 


MRS. GRE GORY. 1 1 7 

years in that funny baby-cap. Look at me, Nettie ; am 
I not real and true ?” 

“ ‘ Real,’ I must believe, ‘ true,’ time will show. I 
have much to thank you for, dear Alice, and something 
to forgive.” 

“If you don’t forgive me, out and out, you are too 
ungrateful to live. We are going to have nothing but 
joy and gladness from morning to night,” and Alice 
pirouetted and kissed Nettie, and showered loving 
words upon her until she brought color and laughter 
back to the pale face. 

Alice was in radiant spirits ; she saw no trouble for 
the future ; Mr. Selwvn had been unable to resist some 
revelation of the contents of Mr. Cowell’s will ; and 
Nettie’s future looked so bright to Miss Stainer that 
her spirits were on the rebound after her long anxiety. 
Nettie was hardly strong enough to bear the excite- 
ment, but although feeling dizzy, she tried to appreciate 
her cousin’s joyousness, and looked happy enough 
until Alice unfortunately exclaimed : 

“Bless my heart, you ought to have a widow’s cap ; 
you shan’t wear black, though ! ” 

Poor Nettie had by no means reached a point where 
jesting was agreeable to her, and she was at least grave 
in the memory that her husband had been dead so 
short a time. She made no pretence of sorrow, still 
she did not intend that he or his peculiarities should be 
ridiculed, nor that there should be any failing in out- 
ward respect. A black gown she certainly intended to 
wear as soon as she could go out, although all the pain- 
ful particulars of cap and crape had not yet been much 
thought of. She made no reply to this thoughtless 
exclamation, but with one reproachful look at Alice, 
frightened them both by suddenly fainting. 

Mrs. Woener and the nurse rushed to the rescue. 


1 1 8 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ She’s too weak to see folks ; her nerves is that uncer- 
tain she goes off in a minit,” said the nurse, as the two 
women carried their charge to the safe shelter and re- 
pose of her room. Alice was in dismay, and turned to 
the lawyer for sympathy. “ I’d like to know whether 
I ever will reach a place or a condition where I can be 
myself ! Here I am, once more Alice Stainer, the 
squeaky voice, the green shade, the hateful Miss Jones 
all swept away ; I cannot possibly regret that dreadful 
man ; if he had wanted to be mourned, he ought, like 
Herod, to have ordered a lot of people killed when he 
died. What did the child faint for ? What did I say ? ” 
and she walked up and down the little path to the gate 
to the immense amusement of Mr. Selwyn, who greatly 
enjoyed his association with this new variety of woman. 

“ I do not wonder that you are happy in your re- 
lease,” he replied, “for there is hardly a more weary 
burden than an assumed character. You do well to re- 
joice, but — have you ever been ill ?” 

“Never,” she answered with a sort of snap, as if 
that was an impossible weakness. 

“ Then you have something to learn. I was once ill, 
and I shall never forget the unutterable exhaustion I 
experienced when particularly well and happy people 
came to see me, and put on their jolliest moods to 
raise my spirits. I felt as if I wanted to close my eyes 
and stop my ears. You have something yet to learn.” 

Alice sighed. “I doubt if my education will ever be 
completed. There is one comfort in store for me : from 
Will’s last letter I know that he and I are destined to 
enjoy the good things of life, and to have many a frolic. 
He must be a big boy now ; fourteen is a delightful age 
— but really I will try to cultivate repose,” and as 
Nettie did not return to them that evening, she and 
Mr. Selwyn had an opportunity of discussing how 


MRS. GREGORY. 


119 

she could best adjust herself to this new phase of life. 
Alice was most unselfish, and yet it was pleasant to be an 
object of interest, even to the grave lawyer who, on his 
side, found the radiant young girl a very delightful com- 
panion, and felt no disposition to have her spirits re- 
pressed. They passed the twilight hours in a row upon 
the lake, and found the evening too short for all that 
they had to talk of. 

The next morning Nettie was able to listen to the 
reading of the will, the lawyer, Miss Stainer, and her- 
self only being present. A more simple document 
could not very well have been drawn. There were 
small bequests to the servants. A gift to Miss Jones 
of fifty pounds, the same to Mr. Selwyn, and then every 
sort of property that he owned was left to his “beloved 
wife, Nettie,” with the one condition that she should 
take the name of Gregory, that having been his 
mother’s name, and the property which she left to him 
being burdened with the condition that either his child 
or his widow should bear this name, “Mrs. Gregory!” 

“ It is fortunate you began with it,” exclaimed Alice, 
“ but of all horrid names ! Will we ever be able to 
know each other? Such a changing I never heard of. 
Then, of course, Mrs. Gregory cannot properly wear 
weeds for Mr. Cowell. She may come out in flowers 
again.” 

“Alice !” exclaimed Nettie. 

Alice shrugged her shoulders penitently, and offered 
her services to order crape an inch thick to commem- 
orate the life and death of the master of Cowell House. 
Nettie looked distressed, and turning to Mr. Selwyn 
said, “ I am much surprised at Mr. Cowell’s will, and 
very grateful to him ; am I at liberty to live as, and 
where, I please ? ” 

“ You are entirely your own mistress, madam. If you 


120 


MRS. GREGORY. 


do me the honor to consult me I can only give advice, 
for that, with anything I can do, you have only to ask.” 

“ Thank you, my kind friend. I am hardly strong 
enough to make any plans at present, but would like 
the children to come as soon as possible. We can re- 
main here until Miss Stainer and I can decide on our 
future. Cowell House can remain in charge of the 
person you have placed there. Now will you kindly 
order a carriage that I may try if I am strong enough 
for exercise this afternoon.” 

Mr. Selwyn, who had always felt a deep interest in the 
much tried wife of his client, was pleased with her calm 
mode of accepting her fortune and her liberty, mentally 
vowed himself her devoted servant, and determined to 
remain as long as he could be spared from his other 
duties — at least until she was able to make some decis- 
ion as to her future home. Nettie went to her room ; 
“ Thank you, my kind nurse,” she said to the woman who 
watched her every movement, and who waited for her, 
“ I intend to be strong and well now, but I have a great 
deal to think of ; please keep every one from me ; bring 
up my dinner, so that I can be alone until we drive.” 

Alone ! Was it wrong that a thought of Henry came 
to her from whom she had heard nothing for so many 
years ? So long she had repressed, in fact had conquered 
his image, that now that she was free she hardly dared 
to look at what so recently had been a sin. So many 
thoughts surged through her brain, hardly yet strong 
enough to bear any pressure, that the need of help re- 
minded her of Him who gave the promise to guide, to 
counsel, and to give strength for every need. Prayer 
soon quieted and restored her ; like a little child she put 
her cares aside, trusting them to the Father, and lying 
peacefully upon her lounge, she was able to sleep until 
Mrs. Walters, the nurse, brought up her tray with dinner. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Meanwhile Miss Stainer was not idle. She investi- 
gated the size and condition of the cottage, found it 
large enough to accommodate them all, and that Mrs. 
Woener would gladly rent it and remain as cook if they 
wished, so that if Nettie liked the idea of making it a 
temporary residence, it could be furnished and made 
very comfortable until she was strong and well again. 
Cowell House was a horror to them both. 

“ My goodness ! ” she exclaimed, to Mr. Selwyn, 
“ did you say that Mrs. — Gregory — is going to drive ? 
Then, of course, she will be an edifying monument of 
crape. I suppose by this time she has opened the 
boxes ; equally, of course, I must do a little affliction. 
The country-people, probably, know that her husband 
is dead, and there is no need to publish that no one is 
sorry, so I will go to Ambleside and see if I can find a 
few yards of grief. I forgot all about my near relation- 
ship, when I was running up that bill for Nettie, at 
Swan & Edgar’s. Come with me, Mr. Selwyn. I can 
walk faster when I talk.” 

“ And talk faster when you walk ? ” he asked, laugh- 
ingly. 

“ Certainly ; if you are not satisfied with my present 
abilities, I will talk at double quick.” But Mr. Selwyn 
was entirely satisfied, and had began to think the ex- 
housekeeper was, for brightness, cheerfulness, endur- 
ance and executive ability, about the one woman of 
whose existence he had never heard before. The ex- 


122 


MRS. GREGORY. 


periences of lawyers with women, are not always such 
as to raise the genus in their estimation. These incon- 
sequent beings have an exasperating way of signing 
their names to papers which they do not take the trou- 
ble to read, or certainly not to comprehend. They are 
puzzled between debit and credit, they cannot calcu- 
late interest, they think of stocks as old Weller did : 
“ things in the city that go up and down.” And — but 
perhaps this is a slander — they are said to have de- 
stroyed receipts, to prevent their being sent in again! 
Here was a woman who had all her wits in their prop- 
er pigeon-holes, who understood legal terms, who kept 
her accounts rigidly, and who was undismayed by any 
weight of care, bearing such burdens easily as came to 
her, and seeming to rejoice in those that she could 
bear for others. As Carlyle said of some one, “ of a 
clear, smiling nature.” The lawyer’s dull life was 
brightened by her flow of spirits, and he was even le- 
niently disposed toward a certain picturesqueness, or, 
more clearly, inaccuracy of statements, which was 
strangely at variance with her exactness in all money 
affairs, and in whatever was entrusted to her care. 
“ They are all contradictory,” he said to himself, as he 
prepared to follow Miss Stainer, who was holding the 
gate open for him, before he found his hat. 

“What are you thinking of ?” asked the lady, as he 
joined her. “ Do you know you had your hat in your 
hand all the time ? ” 

“No! had I really? Then I must confess I paused 
a moment to consider the contradictory traits in some 
women I have known.” 

“ How absurd ! We might as well be men, with well- 
defined professions, if we cannot have the privilege of 
being a dozen things at once. Fancy all that a woman 
must be to fill her position in life. Think of the daily 


MRS. GREGORY. 


123 


life of a wife and mother. She is housekeeper and 
bookkeeper, often teacher, and always general sym- 
pathiser. Her husband thinks her stupid, if she can- 
not talk with him intelligently of the news of the day. 
If she makes a blunder in politics, or even in history or 
geography, he heaves a sigh from his boots. No fa- 
miliarity with whooping-cough or measles excuses 
1 culpable ignorance on such every-day matters.’ It 
is a serious truth that 

‘ Man’s work is from sun to sun, 

Woman’s work is never done.’ 


“ Of course we seem contradictory, but we are not; we 
are true as the needle to the pole, but like this same 
old compass, indulge in variations occasionally.” 

“ Yes — my — dear — and in deviations as well,” said the 
lawyer, who was fairly out of breath, both mentally and 
physically, in his efforts, to follow his leader. “ Now 
walk a little slower, and let me tell you that I think 
Mrs. Gregory ought to engage a carriage for daily ex- 
ercise, so that she can have one properly appointed. 
Very creditable ones can be hired, and until she de- 
cides on how and where to live, this plan will be best.” 

“ All this impresses me immensely with the value of 
money,” she said, laughing. “Did you ever see the 
old hearse that Mr. Cowell called ‘ the carriage ’ ? ” 
“Yes, indeed, and many a time I have remonstrated 
with him about it. He was a miser by nature, and I 
doubt if he would have left his money to his wife if he 
had known what else to do with it. I hope she will be 
able to hear more details to-morrow, for I cannot stay 
much longer. The childlen^will be here soon.” 

“It used to make my heart ache to see how Nettie 
longed to see them. Mr. Cowell seldom showed her even 


124 


MRS. GREGORY. 


her own letters from them ; now and then I managed to 
smuggle one to her, but she usually cried for days 
afterwards, poor child.” 

“ I don’t wonder she had brain fever.” 

“ If you had known half she endured, you would not 
have wondered if she had lost her reason altogether. I 
really thought that revelations from her mother would 
comfort her, but somehow she did not take kindly to 
them.” 

“ It was too ghostly a subject to jest about,” replied 
the lawyer, gravely. 

“ Yes, but you do not understand my difficulties. 
She began by trying to be a loyal wife, and resented 
my efforts to give her little comforts in a secret way ; be- 
sides that, she was a little jealous of my influence with 
her mother, whom you know I discovered to be the 
dear aunt for whom I had been looking, so that I 
hardly knew how to fulfil my promises, Nettie was so 
dreadfully high-minded.” 

“ Hardly a fault,” said the lawyer. 

“That depends upon whom it hits,” retorted Miss 
Stainer ; “ in this case it hit me, and prevented my 
honest efforts to do her a kindness. So I bethought 
me of her mother’s promise to watch over her, and I 
treated her to sundry bits of counsel and wisdom which 
she would not have noticed if she had known they ori- 
ginated under my green shade. She nearly caught me 
one night ; I was trying to find a letter that I knew had 
come from Henry Mason to Mrs. Stepney. I thought 
she ought to have it, so I crept in when I thought they 
were both asleep — you know how the room was planned. 
Mr. Cowell’s bed in a draught of air at one end, Net- 
tie’s behind that Japanese* -Curtain at the other ex- 
treme end of the room, the secretary against the cen- 
tre of the wall, opposite the door. I look like my 


MRS. GREGORY. 


25 


aunt, and Nettie seeing me through the curtain, thought 
I was her ghost. She moved a little, and I had to glide 
off. Ghosts don’t run, you know, and I was mortally 
afraid of being caught. I made for a broom-closet that 
opens into my room, and had hardly reached it before 
she was after me. I put my hand over my eyes and ap- 
peared at my door just as Nettie had reached the closet 
in which the ghost disappeared. Now don’t you see 
that I could not explain to her why I was looking into 
her husband’s secretary, because I did not want her to 
know of the letter unless I could find it for her?” 

Even the legal mind of Mr. Selwyn could not decide 
on a proper reproof, so he only asked if she found the 
letter. 

“ No; I think Mr. Cowell destroyed all that came. I 
wrote once to Mr. Mason and told him of Mrs. Step- 
ney’s death. Nettie never mentioned him in any way. 
I think she would have thought it a mortal sin to have 
spoken his name.” 

“ She is a remarkable woman,” said Mr. Selwyn, 
“but I regret to see her look so pale and weary. When 
she is better I would advise the Continent for awhile. 
Will she keep the children with her ? ” 

“ I know nothing of her plans ; she has been unable 
to write, and we have had no conversation. Her heart 
now is full of the children. I wonder if they will be 
grown out of recognition.” 

“ Possibly, but, by the way, did we not come for 
something ? It is time for our early dinner.” 

“ We came for a veil for me, and while you were 
gazing in the shop window I purchased it, and now we 
are going home. You are a very contradictory person, 
my good friend,” replied his companion, with a merry 
laugh, “full of variations and deviations, I regret to dis- 
cover.” 


126 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“Yes, subject to all weaknesses. It is by knowing 
my own sins that I recognize those of others. Not 
apropos of sins, but of sinners, did you bring the con- 
tents of the secretary for Mrs. Cowell ? ” 

“Please do me justice ; I had no reason to penetrate 
into that sanctum which contained private papers, medi- 
cine-chests, money, and, for aught I know, family secrets, 
so I ordered the whole affair boxed up and sent to Nettie. 
It will be in a nice mess if there is an inkstand in 
it ! ” They both laughed over this very probable catas- 
trophe, which it was too late to prevent, and having 
reached the gate, hastened in to dinner, a meal they 
were obliged fco enjoy without Nettie. 

She became more composed, and after an hour’s rest 
looked with some interest on the two unopened boxes 
that had been brought to her room during the morn- 
ing. The keys were beside them, so that she had no 
trouble in discovering that her odd cousin, who would 
have persuaded her to make no outward sign of woe, 
had provided her with an entire wardrobe of every- 
thing proper for the most deeply-afflicted widow. 
“What an extraordinary girl Alice is,” thought Nettie, 
as she selected the softest and least objectionable of 
the black gowns, and tried the traditional widow’s cap 
in place of the inartistic one invented in Ambleside. 
The vision of the sweet, girlish face, although colorless 
and thinner than it once was, was too lovely to be dis- 
figured by its framing, and Nettie was by no means dis- 
pleased with the effect. There were no swollen eyes, or 
traces of sadness, though there was a reverent stillness 
at the i bought of the death of her husband, and a sin- 
cere grief that his death was one of suffering, how great 
she did not know. She encouraged no memory of what 
she had borne from the heartless old man, but fixed 
her mind resolutely on his kindness in making her 


MRS. GREGORY. 


12 7 


quite independent, and was already planning the hap- 
piness she could give to those she loved, and to the 
needy. Several timgs her hands touched her locket, 
but conscience whispered to her, “Not yet, not yet.” 

When the carriage was announced, and Nettie went 
down-stairs, she fairly startled her friends. “ Bless my 
heart!” exclaimed Alice, and “Oh — er — my dear 
madam, is that you ? ” faltered the lawyer. 

“ Certainly,” replied Nettie, gravely. “ I thank you 
very much, Alice, for your thoughtfulness ; everything 
is just what I wanted. Now let us go, and don’t think 
any more about me.” 

The drive was only half around the lake, but every 
mile and every moment was thoroughly enjoyed. Many 
plans were made by Alice for excursions and explora- 
tions, to which Nettie assented quietly, but with a sort 
of stillness that alarmed her cousin. It was one ex- 
perience to look on at what Nettie had passed through 
in the last few years, and quite another one to have en- 
dured it. Shattered hopes, a crushed love, separation 
from all that were dear, the constant companionship of 
a tyrannical old master, the deprivation of all occupa- 
tion and recreations, had almost palsied the young 
heart as well as shattered the brain. Nettie could not 
explain her strange feelings ; she only knew that she 
wanted to be at rest for a while, till the roaring and 
ringing in her head should cease, and life be plain and 
easy to her once more. She had not been told of the 
living tomb from which she really was rescued, but only 
knew that she had been brought to the cottage for 
quiet, while Mr. Cowell was ill, and that he did not 
know where she was. When reason came back more 
clearly, she asked Sir John, “What will he do to me 
when I go back ? ” Mr. Cowell was then past recovery, 
and her good friend replied, “ My dear child, you shall 


128 


MRS. GREGORY. 


never go back, trust to me.” After that the advance 
toward health was rapid. Mr. Cowell’s death soon 
followed ; her release was explained to her, and, as be- 
fore told, so were also the oddities and yet the loving 
care of the housekeeper. It was a great deal for Nettie 
to bear, but to the bewildered brain there is no greater 
help than the removal of fear arid the solution of mys- 
teries. It seemed as if a great weight were lifted, though 
she hardly dared to try her wings, feeling as a bird re- 
leased from a cage, unable to appreciate her freedom. 

“You may safely trust your cousin now,” Sir John 
told her, “ though you may need to balance her love 
of fun a little by your own good judgment. You had 
better travel ; go to Rome for the winter.” 

“ Oh, no, no ! ” said Nettie. “ I want to be quiet. I 
have wasted so much time, perhaps I can do some good 
now.” 

The kind physician smiled, without saying that he 
fancied a child could do as much, but answered, “ You 
are to have your own way exactly, and to be utterly 
spoiled by indulgence.” At this Nettie treated him to 
a shower of tears, and called him “ dear papa.” 

Then Alice and Mr. Selwyn came, as has been told. 
The cottage was hired and made comfortable. The 
children came and filled house and hearts with joy and 
gladness, though it took some days for them to under- 
stand the changes in both circumstances and appear- 
ances. At first Nettie in her black gown and sombre 
cap filled them with awe, while she was amazed at the 
tall boy and the transformation of the baby Kate. 
Alice, too, had to find her place in their hearts. Before 
long all went smoothly. Happiness is an unfailing 
lubricator. One of their greatest pleasures was a visit 
now and then from Sir John, who called their little 
home “ the happy valley.” 


MRS. GREGORY. 


129 


“ How about Rome ?” he asked one day. 

“ Now, dear papa,” said Nettie, “ what more can you 
ask ? The children are doing admirably at school, Alice 
and I are reading all sorts of learned books and study- 
ing German. Six poor families live in the light of our 
countenances and on the remnants from our kitchen. 
\ have a class in Sunday-school ; we take a whole day 
each week for an excursion. Why should we go ?” 

He tapped the cheek to which color had returned, 
but did not ask, “ Why, then, the wistful look in those 
bright eyes ? ” 

9 


CHAPTER XV. 


It was some time after Nettie’s release before her 
sensitive conscience would allow her to open the little 
locket in which Henry’s precious letters were enclosed. 
In the meanwhile she examined Mr. Cowell’s secretary, 
which reached the cottage in safety, being only partly 
damaged by the overturn of a very little ink. The 
medicine-chest was in perfect order. All sorts of rem- 
edies for all sorts of diseases, carefully prepared and 
labelled. Orders for flowers in the proper pigeon-hole. 
Bills and receipts. Letters of one year’s dates. Ready 
money in a large sum. Then — about a dozen envel- 
opes in Henry’s writing, not one of them containing 
its letter. The dates on the envelopes were from the 
time of Mrs. Stepney’s death, and bore post-marks of 
many towns quite unknown to Nettie — Duluth, St. 
Paul, and so on, the latest being San Francisco. Not 
one word by which she could learn anything of him. 
Not a clue of where to write, if, indeed, writing had 
been the proper thing to do. It was after this dis- 
appointment that one night when all eyes were closed 
in sleep, Nettie opened her locket, and smoothed the 
folds of the two letters. It seemed to her that they 
were illumined like the page in St. Francesca’s missal. 
Like the saint of old, she had performed every duty as 
far as she knew it ; she could not utterly efface her 
lover’s image, but she had never indulged herself in 
recalling it, and now there need be no morbid self- 
reproaches ; if Henry were still free, she was free to 


MRS. GREGORY. 


131 

love him. Is it wonder that his words seemed golden 
legends to her gaze? She read, and read and read 
again the loving words, and brighter and brighter grew 
the pages. Yes, she would trust him to find her. Some- 
how he would know that she was free again, and “ I 
am so glad my name is not Cowell,” she exclaimed. 
“ Anything is better than that.” Nettie knew but little 
of the world, or of cares outside of her own, and the 
thought never came to her that Henry might find her 
more easily by a name that he knew. Troubles in this 
life are like great rivers, formed by many little streams. 
They do not always begin a mile wide, nor run at first 
as a resistless torrent. So Nettie was very bright and 
hopeful for many weeks after this, and then by degrees 
she began to wonder if Henry had heard, then whether 
he would ever hear, and then her sweet eyes took that 
wistful look that Sir John noticed and grieved over. 

One day a few little brown curls began to appear 
below the cap, and Nettie looked lovelier than ever. 
“ But, my dear,” exclaimed Alice, “ what do they mean 
by being brown ? I always thought your blonde hair 
and dark eyebrows and lashes were such a fascinating 
incongruity, such a delightful inconsistency. Now if 
you are going to be gotten up all to match, you won’t 
be half so interesting.” 

“ I'm sorry,” laughed Nettie, “for I fear I can no 
longer pass as a ‘ fascinating incongruity ; ’ my hair is 
growing a decided brown, and matching my eyebrows 
perfectly. Try and endure it, for I don’t know how I 
can help it.” 

Alice sighed, and said “ I will write a poem on the 
lost tresses.” At this, the children who adored their sis- 
ter and feared her feelings might be wounded, insisted 
that she was more beautiful than ever ; that brown hair 
was lovely, and that nothing could improve her, “ un- 


132 


MRS. GREGORY. 


less/’ added Kate, “ she would wear a pink silk, or a 
pink rose in her bonnet.” 

“ Or,” said Alice, “ pin up her crape veil with a wreath 
of scarlet fuchsias.” 

“ Now you are making fun again, Alice. Don’t you 
really think Nettie is beautiful ?” insisted Will. 

“ I really do ; are you satisfied ? ” said Alice. 

“ Don’t be ridiculous, children,” said Nettie. “ Come 
with me, there is a huge basket to be carried to widow 
Green’s, and I am going to read to her, and if Alice 
wants my * lost tresses ’ she can find them in a box in 
my wardrobe carefully preserved by the nurse.” 

“You absurd child,” returned Alice, “shall I send 
them over the sea ? ” 

To this shot Nettie made no answer, but taking her 
hymn-book for the comfort of the widow Green, she and 
the children went off on their errand of mercy. It so 
happened that a young curate, who was working hard 
among the poor, was ministering to the wants of the 
widow when Mrs. Gregory entered ; she left the children 
outside, and tried to carry her basket herself ; of course 
Mr. Mills was ready with help, and greatly pleased with 
the opportunity of speaking to the beautiful widow, 
whose fortunes and misfortunes had not passed quite 
as unnoticed in the neighborhood as she hoped. She 
and Alice and the children went regularly to church, 
and she had a class in the school ; the resident clergy- 
man called at stated times, but Mrs. Gregory being in 
deep mourning, the visit of his wife had not been re- 
turned, and it so happened the curate had never been 
presented. This basket which he considered an espe- 
cial blessing to himself, was fairly seized upon. Nettie 
looked up with her grave smile, but was not as ready as 
the young man to improve the new acquaintance. She 
made her ministrations short that day, and Mr. Mills 


MRS. GREGORY. 


133 


was obliged to remain some time after she left, but as 
the widow Green supplemented the recital of her own 
woes with the story of the kindness of Mrs. Gregory, 
the hour was unusually endurable. Mr. Mills was a 
curate made, not born ; his profession was a trial to him. 
He had neither convictions nor experiences. Sorrow 
and suffering frightened him ; not knowing its needs, he 
had never found its remedy. He thought himself a re- 
markably good and self-sacrificing fellow ; compared his 
dreary life with that of his popular brother, who had 
money enough and to spare, and fully expected an es- 
pecially well-appointed mansion in the golden city. 
Sermon-writing was utterly beyond his powers ; he 
watched the advertisements of “ Sermons for sale,” and 
treated his hearers to such varieties of style and doctrine 
that those who listened were filled with wonder and 
despair. Fortunately very few listened. Nettie made 
several conscientious efforts to do so, but finally gave it 
up. She was able to read the character and to fathom its 
resources, therefore there was no interest to her in the 
persistent visits that followed what Alice called the 
“basket act.” 

“ Alice, do go down and see that tiresome man ; he has 
been here three times this week,” exclaimed Nettie one 
day. Alice did. as she wished, and his visit was short. 
When she returned she was unusually grave ; Nettie 
looked up from her book, inquiringly. 

“ What did he want ? ” 

“ I fancy I know better than he does,” she replied. 
“ I’m sorry for that poor boy. He has some faint idea 
that there are certain duties required of him, and he 
knows no more how to fulfil them than a child. He is 
not even religious, and knows nothing of piety ” 

“What do you mean? What difference is there be- 
tween religion and piety ? ” 


134 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ Perhaps there is no difference, but I think many 
persons have a sort of code of religious morality founded 
on principles of right, and call it religion, but it comes 
from outside, and in fact never penetrates the heart, 
while piety is an inner life and a growth ; this poor boy 
has neither. He was obliged to be a curate for his sup- 
port.” 

“Yes, I knew that, and soon discovered that he had 
no convictions. He wearies me inexpressibly.” 

“ But,” continued Alice, “ I am sorry for him. I 
wish I knew how to help him. Your mother would 
know just what to say, and she would think that it was 
her duty to show him the truth. She told me once 
never to neglect opportunities of usefulness ; that op- 
portunities were responsibilities, particularly if they 
were not of my own seeking. That a higher power 
controlled what we termed accidents and circumstances, 
and it was for us to improve them.” 

“ Dear mother ! What a comfort she would have been 
now. I am sure I don’t know how to talk about such 
things, but when I see him again I will do the best I 
can. He follows me so that I don’t dare to go to the 
Green’s.” 

It was not many days before the curate appeared 
again at the cottage. A severe storm kept Nettie in- 
doors, and Mr. Mills was announced while she was 
reading in the parlor. “ This is one of the circum- 
stances,” she thought, as she received her visitor. He 
plunged so suddenly into the subject of his thoughts 
that she was quite startled. 

“ Mrs. Gregory, how do you know what to say to 
those tiresome old women ? How can you be so cheer- 
ful when you are talking to them ? ” 

“ I am cheerful because I am happy, and cheerful 
with them because they need brightness. I do not 


MRS. GREGORY. 


135 


know much, but I read that one of the fruits of the 
Spirit’s power is joy, and that the Saviour told His dis- 
ciples they must glorify God by showing these fruits.” 

“ That’s a real sermon ; where did you find it all ?” 

“Why — in the Bible of course. I find something 
every day to think of and to help me.” 

“ Do you tell the women such things ?” 

“ Not that exactly, but there is always something 
that I have been reading which seems to be what they 
want.” 

Mr. Mills sighed ; Nettie was not much of a teacher, 
but she tried again. 

“ I try to think what I would want if I were ill and 
helpless ; then, of course, I supply their actual needs, 
because it is useless to talk if — for instance — they are 
' hungry. After that I try to give them some pleasant 
thoughts.” 

“ It seems as if I had read something like that in the 
1 lessons,’ about not saying ‘ Be ye warmed and fed,’ 
unless you help them.” 

“You most certainly have, if you have read the Gos- 
pels. Mr. Mills,” she added thoughtfully, for he 
seemed so ignorant she hardly knew what to say, “ take 
a few verses each day, and kneel down and ask the 
Saviour to show you what they mean. Then live on 
, them. I mean put them in practice.” 

“ Mrs. Gregory ! ” exclaimed the young man, “ I 
will do everything you say ; will you help me, will you 
teach me ? Those people love you so dearly, it some- 
how showed me my deficiencies. What a terrible mis- 
take it is to put such fellows as I in the ministry. I 
can answer certain theological questions according to 
a formula, but I cannot direct a poor woman to a cer- 
tain hope.” 

“ I cannot teach,” replied Nettie, “ for I know but 


MRS. GREGORY. 


136 

little. There is everything in God’s word. You can 
read as well as I.” 

Such interviews were sought by Mr. Mills. Nettie 
was afraid to refuse her help, and yet there was an in- 
creasing interest in his teacher, that was a great an- 
noyance to her. When, finally, he made it very clear to 
her that he was convinced that only as his wife could 
she be just the teacher he wanted, she started indig- 
nantly, reproaching herself for having received so many 
visits from him. 

He waited patiently for her to recover from her sur- 
prise, but was surprised in his turn by her answer. 

“ You must have misunderstood me,” she said, coolly, 
“ I did not dare to refuse to aid you in your work, by 
telling you the little experience I have had. Surely in 
doing this I gave you no encouragement to suppose I 
had any deeper interest in you. You must know very 
little of women if you imagine the position of teacher 
to a husband would offer any attraction.” 

“ But, my dear Mrs. Gregory, think of the good you 
may do through me ” 

“ We need not discuss this, Mr. Mills ; I will en- 
deavor to forget that you have ever thought of this 
matter. If in any way I have benefited you I am very 
glad ; for the future you must seek other assistance,” 
and Nettie was about to leave the room and the matter- 
of-fact lover with great dignity, when his dreary, hope- 
less face, roused her compassion ; she stopped a moment, 
kindly offering her hand. “ I will always be glad to 
hear of your welfare, and of your success, and I thank 
you for the implied compliment.” He looked stupe- 
fied, but when he found himself alone, gathered his 
wits, with his hat and umbrella, and faced the storm 
within and without. 

Nettie threw herself on her sofa for “ a good cry.” 


MRS. GREGORY. 


137 


She tried to blame herself, but could not see how she 
could have acted differently. “ Its uncomfortable liv- 
ing in this unprotected sort of way,” she thought. 
“Alice and Will are so hard to guide, and I will be meet- 
ing this man constantly, and I ought to begin to visit a 

little . Come in,” a knock disturbed her. The 

maid handed a telegram. How every one dreads a 
telegram ! Nettie turned it over many times before 
she opened it. Alice came to hear if there was any- 
thing important. “ You foolish child, don’t you see it 
is from Hanwell. Sir John is coming, I am sure.” 

“ Open it, Alice. I know there is some sorrow in 
it.” 

“ Oh, Nettie ! He is dead ! Dear, good, kind Sir 
John ; only a few days’ illness.” 

Yes, there was sorrow in it, and Nettie and Alice 
mourned as for a father. There was real grief at the 
cottage now. The storm had struck “the happy val- 
ley ;” clouds and darkness overhung its beauty. 

Mr. Mills appeared again, and in some bitterness 
said, “ Take the comfort home to your own heart that 
you have given others.” 

Then Nettie learned a deeper lesson. He was safe. 
He was happy. He was at rest, but this did not take 
away the loneliness. We have not reached the self- 
abnegation yet that can rejoice even if the dear one is 
at home. 

They bore it for a while, then Alice said, “ He 
wanted us to travel ; suppose we go, Nettie. A year’s 
holiday will not hurt Will and Kate. Mr. Selwyn can 
make arrangements for us ; he knows an excellent cou- 
rier ” 

“ Thank you, Alice, for suggestingit. It will be best. 
Write to Mr. Selwyn.” 

“You blessed child!” exclaimed her cousin, “I ex- 


133 


MRS. GREGORY. 


pected to be crushed by a dignified negative, but you 
are delightful, positively delightful. Will ! Kate ! we 
are going to the Continent ! ” 

“ When, Alice, when ? to-morrow ? ” 

“ No, not to-morrow ; next week, perhaps.” 

Nettie started at this, but made no objection. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


No replies to letters for so many years would have 
discouraged a man of different temperament from 
Henry Mason. He had prepared himself for that very 
difficulty ; he knew that Mrs. Stepney could not have 
long to live, and that there was very little hope of 
Nettie’s seeing his letters. He continued to write 
with a sort of dogged perseverance, feeling that at least 
there would be a record of his hard work that might by 
some chance be known to her sometime. That indefin- 
ite “sometime ” had been his only star of hope. 

Conscientious in every smallest matter, Henry, in this 
great sorrow of his life, faced the trouble bravely, and 
placed before his mind and heart the exact position. 
He honestly shut out from his heart the present image 
of Nettie, determinately considering her the wife of 
another man. He gave up the thought of her being 
his in her youthful loveliness. He thought of her only 
as a possible future, a widow, doubtless sadly changed 
in appearance, perhaps middle-aged and gray-haired, 
with weary eyes and chastened spirits. Many times he 
tried to fancy just such a picture. “Will I love her?” 
he asked himself. “Yes, to the very end of life, she 
will be -dear to me,” and then he would start from his 
reverie and go on with life again. 

Mr. Cowell he looked upon as the guardian of his 
property. Sure to die before many years. It was an 
extraordinary position, one, the right of which was 
many times debated by the young man, but which he 
accepted as a necessity. 


140 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“She had to marry him ; I must wait till she is free 
again. It was a horrible fate, but there was no help 
for it,’' and then again he would shake off the incubus, 
and struggle with his adverse fortunes with what heart 
he could put into his work. 

Years had passed in a series of failures. The rail- 
road company to which Colonel Henderson sent his 
nephew failed utterly. He obtained another situation 
before his money was spent. The salary hardly suf- 
ficed to lodge him. He would not ask his uncle for 
help, and a stranger in his native land he struggled on. 
At last his untiring energy gave 1pm a reputation ; he 
found work farther west, and was better paid. Every 
dollar he could save was carefully laid aside ; every 
hope was retailed to Mrs. Stepney, every fear was hid- 
den and crushed. It was the second year before he 
had any answer; then a strange hand informed him 
that Mrs. Stepney was dead, that Mrs. Cowell was well, 
and enduring her life as bravely as she could, but that 
he must continue to write to Mrs. Stepney, and by no 
means to admit any knowledge of her death or of any 
circumstances in regard to Mrs. Cowell. That this was 
written without the knowledge of either Mr. or Mrs. 
Cowell. There was no signature, and never was mor- 
tal more puzzled than Henry. He did not venture to 
disregard the advice, and wrote as before, though less 
frequently, often wondering whether Nettie’s eyes ever 
rested on his words. 

Time passes even in a prison, and as surely for a 
prisoned heart, so the years did regularly roll on. In 
the autumn after Sir John Conolly’s death a sudden 
summons from his uncle’s lawyer informed him of the 
death of Colonel Henderson, and that from being a 
clerk in a railroad office, he was the heir of all his 
uncle’s property. In fact he was the last of the line. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


141 

He made no delay in his preparations to return to Eng- 
land. That delightful sensation that it is given to some 
patient and weary souls to know, had come to him. 
Something had happened at last. The long lane had 
turned, and the vestibule of his future was reached. 

The iron horse was a laggard in his gait, he thought, 
as night and day he rushed toward the Atlantic coast. 
Not a moment was lost ; he had telegraphed fora state- 
room in the steamer. Yes, a whole stateroom ; he was 
a rich man now, and would have one to himself, if pos- 
sible, for he must think and plan for the future. If he 
only knew about Nettie’s fate ! “ Is she alive ? Is she 

wife or widow? Is she changed? Will I find her still 
beautiful ! She will be Nettie, my darling, if not a ray of 
her former loveliness is left.” It was not so very long 
after all ; why did he so persistently try to convince 
himself that she would look so unlike herself ! I, who 
knew all about them both, wished he could have seen 
her on that September day. She was sailing on the 
stormy channel, and pitying the anguished faces 
around her. She stood in the fresh gale, a bright color 
mantled her cheeks, her eyes were full of expectancy, 
her brown curls were just long enough to be tossed in 
lovely confusion. 

If she were changed, it was to a woman of such ex- 
ceeding loveliness that one would have wondered if she 
could ever have been more beautiful. Alice, too, was 
scarcely less lovely, but her beauty was of a very dif- 
ferent type. Her eyes were always dancing with merri- 
ment, her mouth was never still. If she were not talk- 
ing, she looked as if she could not wait another moment 
for the opportunity. But I have left Henry, who 
reached Liverpool just ten days after Mrs. Gregory and 
her party left Dover. His luggage was despatched to 
“The Oaks,” as soon as he landed, and he, only wait- 


142 


MRS, GREGORY . 


ing for coffee and rolls at the Waverly, was travelling 
south to Southampton. 

He sprang out upon the platform. The impetuous 
American, with a pocket full of gold, was at once rec- 
ognized by the porter. 

“ A fly, sir ? ’ere is one, fast ’orse, sir.” 

“Yes,” said Henry, “drive to Cowell House.” 

The porter understood the wink from the driver, and 
put the portmanteau up beside him. After Henry had 
driven a short distance, the man turned and said, 
“ ’Spose you know the folk’s ain’t livin’ there now ?” 

“ Who is dead ? ” demanded Henry. 

“ Old Mr. Cowell died more’n a year ago, may be nigh 
two years.” 

He could hardly speak, but managed to ask, “ Where 
is Mrs. Cowell ? ” 

“’Don’ know, sir. She moved away. Some say the 
house was haunted, some say she was took to a ’Sylum ; 
can’t say for certain.” 

“Asylum ! What on earth for?” 

The man touched his head significantly, and Henry 
felt the world “go ’round.” It was spinning around, this 
once firm earth. “ Drive on,” was all he said. They 
reached the gate. “ For sale,” was conspicuously vis- 
ible on a board fastened to a tree. They drove into 
the deserted grounds. The house was closed, but a 
woman answered the impatient peal of the bell. She 
asked him in and dusted a chair in the hall for him 
before she tried to answer his questions. “ I didn’t 
know the family, sir. I only lately come to this part 
of the country. Miss Jones hired me. I had a good 
recommend, and Miss Jones put me here to keep the 
’ouse aired. The cook was here before me, but she 
went to live with a family a mile away.” 

“ Give me the name, and tell the driver where to go.” 


MRS. GRE GORY. - 143 

She gave the directions, received her bonus, and 
courtesied her appreciation. 

“What became of the housekeeper?” he asked of 
the driver. 

“ Don’ no, sir. They all chased off after the funeral. 
There was some talk about things not bein’ all right, 
but they was folks as kept to themselves, and nobody 
knew for sartain.” 

The cook was at home. Yes, she knew all about 
everything and this was her story : 

“ Mrs. Cowell was a beautiful young lady, but she 
was too put upon. No saint could a stood it. The 
hold man was that queer, nobody could live with ’im. 
Miss Jones, the ’ousekeeper, had a way of managin’ 
him, and she was greatly set on Mrs. Cowell. Many’s 
the cup of coffee I’ve made all in a ’urry for her to 
take to her when she was reglar wore out with his 
’atefulness. After a while Mrs. Cowell began to have 
screeching and laffin’ turns, an’ the hold man used 
to shake his hold ’ead and stop his ears. So Saun- 
ders, the butler, told me. Then, one day Miss Jones, 
she hordered a big dinner for company, an’ Saunders, 
says he, ‘ I mistrust them men a dinin’ ’ere to-day.' 
4 What’s amiss with them ? ’ says I. ‘ If they ain’t 
blackguards, I’ll eat my ’ead,’ says he. ‘ They’re ’ere on 
no good. I believe the hold beast,’ savin’ your presence, 
sir, ‘ is agoin’ to send Mrs. Cowell to some ’Sylum.’ 
‘Good Lor,’ says I, ‘Miss Jones won’t never have it.’ 
Well, that night, Mr. Cowell was took with pallerisses, 
and never spoke no more nor swallered for two weeks, 
an’ then he died, an’ good enuf it was for ’im too ” 

“ But — Mrs. Cowell, what of her ? ” 

“I really can’t say. She was took away in the night, 
and none of us knowed it till mornin’, when Jane came 
down all of a fluster, and said she was took away.” 


144 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ Where to ?” asked Henry, trying to steady himself. 

“ Can’t say, sir. She had a fever, I heard, an’ Miss 
Jones had a new doctor for her ; whether he took her, or 
the blackguards took her, neither James, nor Saunders, 
nor Jane, nor I knew. Miss Jones never said anything, 
only she was safe, an’ had gone away with friends. Then 
Mr. Cowell died, and ail the servants was dismissed but 
me. I took care of the ’ouse, but it was too lonely, so 
I sent word to Mr. Selwyn, the lawyer, an’ he told me I 
might go. After that a strange woman was put there, 
but I sort of mistrust the house an’ ain’t never been 
there since ; there was talk of ghosts, an’ sure, if any 
old sinner deserved to be ’aunted, it was old Mr. Cowell.” 

All this only added to Henry’s distress and per- 
plexity. He drove back to Southampton, telegraphed 
to his uncle’s lawyer that he would be detained a day 
or two, took rooms at the hotel, and determined to 
find out something before he left Hampshire. He told 
the landlord that he was an old friend of Mrs. Cowell, 
but did not know her address. Unfortunately this 
worthy man, who also recognized the reckless Ameri- 
can with an open purse, had only been in Southamp- 
ton for six months, but he suggested an interview with 
one of the clergy. The one who buried Mr. Cowell 
was discovered. Yes, he knew Mr. Cowell. The 
funeral was only attended by Mr. Selwyn, Mr. Cowell’s 
lawyer; Mr. Marvin, the medical man ; and Miss Jones, 
the housekeeper. He remembered it because Mr. 
Cowell was known to be rich, although he sold his 
flowers — and the rich usually have many mourners. 
Occasionally Mrs. Cowell had attended church, but he 
was never admitted when he called. He heard of her 
illness, and that she had gone to her friends. Sir John 
Conollv might have known something of it, if there 
was any brain trouble. He was visiting near South- 
ampton about that time, but he died in March. Mr. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


145 


Cowell died two years before. He wished he could 
tell more. It was known that Mr. Cowell married 
a beautiful young girl, but the few persons who ven- 
tured to go to see her were made to understand that 
they were not welcome. For some unknown reason 
Mrs. Cowell was rarely seen ; she never made purchases 
in the shops, and, coming so seldom to church, the 
interest and gossip died out. That was all that could 
be elicited from the good clergyman. The medical 
man was next sought — Mr. Marvin. He very willingly 
told all he knew, and Henry carefully entered every 
new item in his notebook. He was called to Mr. 
Cowell, who was very suddenly paralyzed. He found 
Sir John Conolly in attendance upon Mrs. Cowell, who 
had brain fever. Marvin attended Mr. Cowell for two 
weeks, rarely saw Miss Jones, the housekeeper, but 
knew she was in the house. The valet, Saunders, 
who took care of Mr. Cowell, said Mrs. Cowell had 
gone to her friends ; that Sir John thought the 
noise and confusion of Mr. Cowell’s illness and fune- 
ral would be bad for her. Whether Sir John went with 
Mrs. Cowell, Saunders did not say, and Mr. Marvin 
had asked no questions. Did not hear anything of 
an insane asylum till after all was over. If Sir John 
took her to Hanwell, she was safe under his care. 
This was more satisfactory ; the “ blackguards ” began 
to disappear, but the possible derangement was a ter- 
rible matter, particularly when connected with the 
thought of what cruelty might have produced it. The 
lawyer, Mr. Selwyn, had moved to London — so Mr. 
Marvin informed him. He courteously promised to 
make further inquiries, and to write to Mr. Mason at 
“ The Oaks.” That night Henry wrote to Hanwell and 
to Mr. Selwyn, giving his address. The following 
morning he left Southampton for the lake district. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Mr. Podgson was “ taking the air,” that is, was sun- 
ning himself on the little porch of the gate-house. 
This house had been unoccupied for some time, and 
Mr. Podgson formed the habit of indulging there in 
countless cigars and reveries, while sitting alone and 
idle after the death of the colonel. He had very vague 
ideas of the length of time it would take “ young Mr. 
Hennery,” to reach “ The Oaks,” for although he knew 
that steamers brought the “Hamericas” within a few 
weeks, he “ hunderstood that Mr. Hennery was not on 
the hilands, but in the hinterior, so to speak,” but the 
length and breadth of the “ hinterior ” was beyond his 
computation. Therefore, quite ignorant of Mr. Mason’s 
arrival, the good Podgson sat serenely upon the porch 
considering his future prospects. A misfortune, com- 
mon to all men, had befallen him. A new and radi- 
antly beautiful housemaid had recently appeared in 
Mrs. Deems’ apartments, to take the place of Mary, 
who was married. Mr. Podgson was in love with the 
new beauty — but Mr. Podgson was always in love, 
more or less. The sensation, if that word is descriptive 
of the delight experienced by the butler, was becoming 
more and more fascinating to him. He took it out, 
and looked admiringly at it, he examined it carefully, 
lest there might be something that would turn again and 
rend him, he smoothed it down and caressed it — I am 
speaking of the sensation, not of the object of his love ; 
please note this, for Podgson was nothing if not proper. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


147 


He revelled in the warmth and blessings that the pres- 
ence of the sensation produced in his “ hinterior,” which 
was by no means as boundless as that in which “ Mr. 
Hennery ” resided. He was a philosopher, and was fully 
aware that his present feeling would pass away as pre- 
vious feelings had done. He regretted to lose the de- 
licious sensation ; while he had it he enjoyed it, but he 
sighed as he knew that he would probably treat it as he 
had always done its predecessors. He was in the habit of 
taking his love — I mean the sensation , remember — and 
exposing it to the air, while he subjected it to examina- 
tions, and this had the effect of cooling it toward the 
object, and centering it on itself, until it became a 
thing apart, so that he could calmly witness the ar- 
rival of a Jones or Smith, and serenely bestow the 
“object” upon the happy man in a most fatherly and 
“ bless you my children ” manner. 

Mr. Podgson sighed as he thought how often this 
had been the end of his dreams. He sighed deeper as he 
thought of his gray hair, and deepest and most pro- 
foundly as he thought of his portly form that required 
new measurements by the tailor each year. Yes, in the 
midst of pleasurable sensations, Mr. Podgson had cause 
for three sighs. 

“It may ’ave been a mistake,” he. said; “I was 
formed for domestic ’appiness, but I may as well con- 
fess it, the hassociations hof my life hup-stairs, make 
it himpossible for me to subjoin myself to a person in 
the«spear to which I hactually belong ; it is my mis- 
fortune, so to speak,” and three more sighs followed 
their predecessors, and fairly lifted him from his chair 
in self-pity, until he was ready to wear crape at the 
funeral of his dead hopes. This depth of sentimental- 
ity had its enjoyment, and reminded the good butler 
that he had not seen the lovely Nora for several hours, 


148 


MRS. GREGORY. 


so he sought the housekeeper’s room, and might have 
been able to indemnify himself for his sorrows, if 
a tremendous peal at the door-bell had not startled 
him. 

“ Run, James ! ” he heard Mrs. Deems exclaim to one 
of the footmen, as she in much trepidation rushed in 
the room and sank panting on a chair. “It rang just 
like the colonel ; oh dear ! oh dear ! ” she sobbed. 

“ Lor’ ! ” said Mr. Podgson, “ don’t take on like that. 
If it were the colonel ’imself he wouldn’t ’urt us.” 

“ I’m that afraid of ghosts,” replied the good woman, 
“you could knock me down with a feather.” 

“ Listen ! ” said the butler, “ its the nevvy sure enuf. 
’Owever he got ’ere so soon from the Hamericas I 
can’t see. I’ll go, Mrs. Deems,” and Podgson scurried 
off to his duty as master of ceremonies. 

Henry Mason was standing beside the table, where 
years before he had parted with his uncle. The scene 
was indelibly impressed upon him. The old man al- 
most beside himself with rage, his figure and red face 
projected against the background of a superbly carved 
oak mantel, in front of which he stood ; the blazing 
wood fire, the view from the windows, of lawn and 
trees, and calm blue lake, how it all came back to him. 
“ If I had been more patient, perhaps I need not have 
had this terrible sorrow now, for what are houses 
and lands without my darling, my Nettie!” What 
availed being “ monarch of all he surveyed,” if, like poor 
Selkirk, he were alone ? He could have put his head 
down on the table and wept, if a loud “ Hem ! ” had not 
roused him. He turned, and Podgson’s rotundity and 
impassive face were before him. Podgson did not know 
whether “ Mr. Hennery ” would be sorry or glad, so he 
deferred the arrangement of his features till he should 
discover in what direction his sympathies might be 


MRS. GREGORY. 


149 


needed. Sadness being the prominent expression, 
Podgson became sad and sorrowful. 

“ At your service, Mr. Mason,” he said. 

“ Oh, yes, I remember, my uncle’s butler, I believe,” 
stammered Mr. Mason. 

“Your butler, I hope sir.” 

“ Yes, indeed ; but it is hard for me to realize — • 
Pogen ” 

“ Podgson, if you please sir.” 

“ Yes, Podgson. I cannot realize that my uncle is 
gone, and that I am his heir ; we parted in this room.” 

“ Yessir ; death hovertakes great and small ; ” here 
Podgson sighed one of his best Sunday sighs, the kind 
he kept for his weekly assertion that he was a “ miser- 
able sinner.” “ The colonel was, so to speak, flustered 
that day. He regretted to his dying day them ’asty 
words ;” this was original and poetical on Podgson’s 
part, “ but it is not in Hindian hofficers to ’umble their- 
selves, so to speak. You’ll not bear no grudge against 
’im Pm sure, sir.” 

“No, Podgson, of course not. I really knew very lit- 
tle of him. It was very good in him to remember me.” 

“Yessir; placing you in his shoes, so to speak. We 
were ’ardly ’oping for you so immediate, but you will 
find everything to your ’and. The colonel’s horders 
was to leave hall things till you sLould come. What 
will you be pleased to horder sir ? Shall I show you 
the rooms, sir ; we harranged a suite on the south side.” 

“Thank you, I may only be here a few days now ; it 
depends on letters that I expect from London, where I 
have business. Send for Mr. Lemon ; he had better 
dine with me at seven, if possible, as I may leave to- 
morrow, if I should be telegraphed for.” 

Henry remembered that seven was his uncle’s din- 
ing hour, and flattering himself that he had acquitted 


MRS. GREGORY. 


150 

himself with dignity, he took a hasty survey of his 
rooms, and then went outside to “ view his lands/’ and 
quiet his perturbed spirit. 

A more bewildered young man could hardly have 
been found. The change was sudden, and the happi- 
ness it might have brought him had been swept away 
in his bitter disappointment and terrible dread as to 
what had befallen Nettie. He must see his uncle’s 
lawyer, leave the place in his charge, and then rest 
neither day nor night until he found her. He reviewed 
the information he received, and in dividing the im- 
portant and unimportant, decided that the housekeeper 
would probably remain with Nettie, and that his search 
must be for Miss Jones and Mrs. Cowell. The death 
of Sir John Conolly deprived him of a certain source 
of information, but the men spoken of as the “ black- 
guards ’* were to be looked for. Revolving these 
thoughts as he walked through the grounds, he was 
attracted and interested in the care and taste that were 
everywhere visible. The estate was neither rich nor 
large, except comparatively. The house was fine and 
superbly situated, and with its surroundings, to one 
fresh from the unfinished “ West,” it seemed princely. 
Some natural pride came to him, as its owner, as he 
wandered on through flower-gardens, shrubberies, over 
the smooth lawns, though he had a strange sense of 
unreality, till at last he felt more at ease in an old 
orchard which was in rather a more natural condition 
than the other portions of the grounds. There he 
found a seat, and, glad to be alone, he, like Podgson, 
took out his trouble and looked at it on all sides. For 
a few moments he had been interested in his surround- 
ings, but then the heart-sinking came back with re- 
newed force. He could not affect regret for his uncle ; 
he had neither been kind nor just, and many years of 


MRS. GREGORY. 


151 

uncertainty and of hard work had been a poor prepa- 
ration either for the enjoyment or for the wise use of 
the property. Back went his thoughts to his child- 
hood. He remembered a home where poverty was 
made light of, where happiness triumphed over want. 
He remembered that he learned then how to make 
the best of everything, and, like Colonel Sellers, to 
praise “ the beautiful bead ” on the plain, cold water. 
He had faith in human nature then, and thought 
that love was the universal law. Then a sorrow 
came, his mother died, and he was sent with a 
heart tender with its first grief, to buffet the cruel boy- 
world in a public school. He was laughed at for his 
efforts to do right, jeered at for his truthfulness, perse- 
cuted for his honor. He was a brave boy, making no 
complaints to his father, who labored for their mutual 
support, but his young brow knitted under injustice, 
and school-life was bitter to him. Home was not what 
it had been ; the life-struggle was not so cheerfully 
borne ; there was no bright spirit to illumine its gloom ; 
only the man and the boy, one weary over his easel, 
the other over his tasks ; one looking back to a day of 
insults and tyranny, the other looking forward to an- 
other day of work and weariness. 

Then the father died. He had never had much 
force of character ; he was amiable and trusting. The 
boy was the stronger of the two. The father had no 
relatives, and left but a small sum of money. He bade 
the boy write to his. uncle, whose address was among 
the family archives. This he did, and following the 
advice of the landlady with whom they boarded, and 
who was very kind to him, he waited the answer before 
making any plans to support himself. The rest the 
reader knows. His uncle sent for him, and with the 
Stepneys he found a home. All this came back to him. 


152 


MRS. GREGORY. 


The life had not been a long one, but to him who had 
lived it, it was full of incident and interest. Now his 
care for his support was over ; he could live where and 
as he liked, within moderate bounds. Nettie was free 
and surely true to him, but where ? It was all very 
wonderful to have this inheritance, but, as Napoleon is 
recorded to have said, the world was divided in two 
parts. To Henry, where he was, was one part, where 
Nettie was, was the other. Where she was, and where 
she was not. This was all of life to him, and summed 
up his sorrow and his hope. 

One of the men came to summon him. Mr. Lemon 
had come ; dinner was ready to be served. He hastened 
home. The lawyer received the young man courte- 
ously, and curiously eyed the young American who 
he considered had more cause for joy than for sorrow, 
and yet whose face bore such unmistakable evidence of 
anxiety. They conversed on general topics during the 
superintendence of Podgson, but after dinner, Henry, 
who was too restless to remain indoors, proposed a 
walk in the moonlight with their cigars. 

Mr. Lemon explained the condition of the property, 
and hoped Mr. Mason would reside at “The Oaks.” 

“ Cannot all go on as it is ? I have business that I 
cannot defer,” asked Henry. 

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Lemon ; “the servants can 
remain and be fully trusted, while I will have a general 
supervision till your return;” but he thought this a 
cool and careless way of dismissing the subject. 

Henry hesitated a moment, and then told him what 
he feared and hoped, and that until Mrs. Cowell was 
found he could not rest. His interest in her was put 
on the fact of his having lived for so many years with 
Mrs. Stepney, and, in fact, feeling for her as for a 
mother. The idea that Mrs. Cowell was really a sub- 


MRS. GREGORY. 


153 


ject for an insane asylum he would not admit, but 
feared she might have been placed in one. Mr. Lemon 
was deeply interested, and had no trouble in reading 
between the lines. He advised seeing Mr. Selwyn as 
soon as possible, and offered to accompany his young 
friend. Henry preferred going alone, but promised to 
send if he needed assistance. 

The morning’s mail brought letters from London, one 
telling that Mr. Selwyn was travelling on the Continent ; 
at present his address was Rome, where letters were to 
await him. When he went away for rest he rarely per- 
mitted his letters to find him until he was ready for 
them. The other letter proved clearly that Mrs. 
Cowell had never been at Hanwell. A third was from 
Mr. Marvin, the physician in Southampton, who “had 
reason to believe Mrs. Cowell was taken to a private 
asylum, kept by a man named Adam, situated a few 
miles off the line.” He gave the address. He had 
certain information that this man dined with Mr. 
Cowell, and that Mrs. Cowell was taken away in the 
night, a short time after. The housekeeper, Miss Jones, 
seemed to have control of everything after Mr. Cowell’s 
death, and instead of leaving any address at the post- 
office, she went there for letters occasionally. The 
postmaster said that no letters had come for any of the 
family for the last six months. 

This was very much like the information received 
from the cook, from whom Henry thought Marvin 
might have obtained it, as there could not have been 
time for very thorough researches. He consulted Mr. 
Lemon, who agreed that the private asylum must be 
examined. It was better to try first as a friend making 
inquiries ; the law might be brought to bear upon the 
matter somewhat later. His success we will leave for 
another chapter. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Mr. Mason found the asylum, and was admitted to 
the office, where he was received by Dr. Wildman, a 
middle-aged man, with an immense assumption of im- 
portance, a very bad face, and eagle eyes that were 
somewhat toned down by glasses with uncommonly 
wide, gold rims. The errand of the visitor was soon 
told. “ To inquire in regard to a Mrs. Cowell, who, 
in 1864, had been received, and was now probably an 
inmate.” 

“A Mrs. Cowell; ah, yes — I apprehend I can assist 
you — yes — Mr. Seaman, the books of ’64, if you please. 
Unfortunately,” he said, as he turned the pages, “ the 
assistant of that year was a little careless as to dates. 
C — Co — yes, here it is — no, I am in error. No such 
name entered at that time. I was misled by ‘Cowing’ 
— are you sure you mean ‘ Cowell ? ’ ” 

“ Perfectly sure,” said Henry. 

“I certainly do remember Adam telling me of an 
application from a Cowell, a flower man — Seaman, call 
Mr. James.” 

Mr. James appeared. 

“ Did we ever have a Mrs. Cowell here ?” 

“Yes ; she died.” 

Henry turned deadly pale. 

“My dear sir,” said the observant Wildman, looking 
over his glasses, “these things are common to all men. 
I sympathize deeply — a friend of yours, I conclude. 
Yes, she died. What date, Mr. James ?” 

“ Before 1855, I think.” 


MRS. GREGORY. 


155 


“Books of 1855—56, Mr. Seaman; yes, here it is. 
Cowell, aged twenty-three, wife of E. G. Cowell. Is 
that the party ? ” 

Henry breathed again. “ The lady for whom I am 
inquiring did not marry Mr. Cowell till 1859 or ’6o.” 

“Ah, that is strange ; there must have been a previ- 
ous marriage. In fact, I can only account for possible 
errors by inaccuracy of the assistant. Some of the 
books were burned by — a — patient — and the entire list 
re-written from memory and the half-*burned papers. 
From what I remember hearing, a Mrs. Cowell was 
brought here before I came, and died ; the exact date 
I cannot find.” 

“ But, my dear sir, it is of immense importance to 
me to know which of the dates refers to Mrs. Cowell of 
1864, only two years ago. Certainly some one can 
remember, and the lady I wish to find was not Mrs. 
Cowell in 1855.” 

“ That settles it, then ; the date must be wrong, unless 
Cowell had two wives ; even then, they would hardly 
both be insane.” 

“ Is there no one here who can verify the dates ? 
Where is Adam himself? ” 

“ He is in America. Every assistant of his but Mr. 
James has left. I have been in charge for eighteen 
months. There was no one among the patients bear' 
ing the name of Cowell. But — perhaps you are not 
aware that under — er — er — certain circumstances, pa- 
tients are entered under fictitious names, for the sake 
of the family ; you understand, doubtless.” 

“ I cannot understand the use of a lie under any cir- 
cumstances.” 

Dr. Wildman drummed on the table with his fingers ; 
such lunacy did not come under curable cases, and the 
interview was rather tedious to him. 


156 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ Can you give me no further information ? ” 

“ I have just thought of some one who may help you 
— one of the experts who only left a short time ago ; 
he was with Adam for years ; I will write it — Mr. 
Worth, London, Mersey Street, No. 16. He may know 
something.” 

“Thank you,” exclaimed Henry, seizing the paper 
as if it contained a reprieve from a death-warrant. 
Then a new thought struck him. “ If Mrs. Cowell is 
here now, some one must pay her expenses.” 

“ Of course,” replied Dr. Wildman, with a worse ex- 
pression than before darkening his face, “which proves 
that she is not here ; or, having been here, that she is 
dead, or that she is known by another name.” He 
thought it was time to settle this persistent young man, 
and he did settle him, for Henry bowed and went in 
search of 16 Mersey Street, London. 

London, and Mersey Street, and Mr. Worth were 
easily found. A modest sign informed the inquiring 
public that the office-hours were from three to five. 
Henry had hit upon the proper time, and was civilly 
received by Mr. Worth. 

“ I am directed to you by Dr. Wildman, for informa- 
tion in regard to a Mrs. Cowell, whom I have reason 
to believe was placed in the asylum in the spring of 
1864. The books are confused, and I cannot obtain 
any certain account.” 

“ Ah ! ah ! indeed ! I am very sorry to hear it. I 
was called to see a Mrs. Cowell, in company with Dr. 
Adam, in that year, a short time before I left the asy- 
lum. She was then suffering under strong nervous ex- 
citement. I remember the circumstances. My part- 
ner thought it a case of temporary aberration.” 

“ Please favor me with all you can recall of the cir- 
cumstances.” 


MRS. GREGORY. 


1 57 


“We were sent for by Mr. Cowell, who resided near 
Southampton. He seemed to be in deep grief about 
the condition of his wife, who, he said, gave evidences 
of insanity. We were invited to dinner, and intro- 
duced as friends of Mr. Cowell’s, being told to watch 
her carefully. Mr. Cowell seemed devoted to her, and 
much distressed ; but I thought the subjects that he 
chose to converse upon were very unwise, as they 
were such as evidently excited her greatly. I remem- 
ber he talked about her brother and sister, whom, it 
appeared, she had not seen for a long time, and re- 
ferred, also, to her mother’s death. He probably did 
this to show her condition, as she laughed immoder- 
ately at everything, her eyes shone, and her face was 
flushed.” 

“ Was any other person present ? ” 

“Yes, the housekeeper, Miss Jones, a lady whom I 
thought wore a green shade as a disguise. We get in 
the habit of discovering such things. I detected her 
several times trying to quiet Mrs. Cowell, and was sure 
that she suspected our errand. After dinner Mrs. 
Cowell put her hand to her head in a bewildered sort 
of way, and left the room. Then we talked it over, and 
Mr. Cowell decided to have her removed the following 
week.” 

“ Well — what then ? ” for Mr. Worth stopped ab- 
ruptly. 

“ Adam went for her, at the time appointed ; the 
house was in some confusion, Mr. Cowell was para- 
lyzed, Miss Jones was in charge, and said that Mrs. 
Cowell had disappeared. Adam had no warrant to 
search the house, and thought Cowell might die and 
Mrs. Cowell be left on his hands, so he went back 
again. Certainly Mrs. Cowell was not with him on his 
return, but I objected to certain features of the asylum 


i 5 8 


MRS. GREGORY. 


management, and had a quarrel with Adam, so that I 
left soon after, and cannot tell whether Mrs. Cowell 
went there later. Then Adam got into trouble and 
went to America. His real name was Matson.” 

“ Mr. Cowell died so soon after this, that I do not think 
she could have been sent there. She was not taken to 
Hanwell, and, in fact, I cannot trace her.” 

“Will not the books help you ?” 

“No, they are confused.” 

“ I remember, were burned and rewritten from mem- 
ory, but how does that affect 1864 ? ” 

“ In this way. A Mrs. Cowell was once there, and 
died. You see they may have confused the dates.” 

“ No Mrs. Cowell died while I was there ; names were 
changed, however, but I do not think any Mrs. Cowell 
was there after 1864. Can you not trace her from her 
residence — some of the people around must know some- 
thing about her. However, I remember Mr. Cowell said 
they had no intercourse with their neighbors. I asked 
him whether some society would not be better for his 
lady ? He said she was never lonely ; that he devoted 
his whole time to her. I felt sorry for her, she was so 
young, but my business was only to examine the cases. 
I have had to control my feelings before now. When 
we examined cases we assumed other names — mine 
was Warren.” 

“Did you consider Mrs. Cowell insane ?” 

The young man moved unsteadily, then replied, “ No, 
I did not. I thought her on the verge of brain fever.” 

“ And yet she would have been taken to an asylum ! ” 

“That was not my affair. I gave my opinion to 
Adam, and that was the reason he did not take me with 
him when he went after her ; in fact, I refused to go, 
and was glad enough when he did not bring her with 
him.” 


MRS. GREGORY. 1 59 

“ That point, then, is certain ; she did not enter the 
asylum.” 

“ Not while I was there. She may have been sent 
afterward. If the matter is purposely confused, you 
will have a hard time. You had better get a detective 
to work it up for you. Go to Dobbins ; he is a first-rate 
fellow, and honest, too.” 

So Henry went to Dobbins, who undertook the case, 
while the baffled lover returned to “The Oaks” to 
await the result. There was enough to do in examining 
his new possessions, to occupy the time. He con- 
quered the hearts of Mrs. Deems and Mr. Podgson, 
liking everything, and praising everybody ! This 
seemed a sort of relief to his heart, for he had an in- 
tense longing to make everyone happy with his new 
ability. It passed the hours for him till about four 
days after his return, when Dobbins appeared. This 
official was able to add but little to Henry’s informa- 
tion. The same story was repeated, with the addition 
that a week or two after the death of Mr. Cowell Miss 
Jones, the housekeeper, took tickets for London ; that 
while there she went several times to Hanwell, then 
left without saying where she was going. Mrs. Cowell 
was not with her. When she left London Mr. Selwyn 
left on the same day. Could not find out whether they 
went together. A box was sent from the Cowell House 
to her in London, addressed to a private hotel in 
Arlington Street. There it was redirected to Amble- 
side.” 

“ Ambleside ! near here ? " 

“ Exactly,” said Dobbins. “ But I can’t trace that 
box, because no one could remember who it was for. 
I have been to Ambleside, and no one knows anything 
of Miss Jones or Mrs. Cowell. If you know more than 
I do, young man, better make a clean breast of it. 


1 60 MRS. GRE G OR Y. 

I’ve lost my clew.’' And Dobbins looked disgusted 
with life. 

“ It is impossible for a family to be swept out of 
existence in two years ; they must have gone to the 
Continent, or to Asia or Africa. I had some reason to 
fear that Mrs. Cowell had been taken to an insane 
asylum, but I think now it was not so.” 

“Whew!” said Dobbins; “if she was took there, 
you are in a case. Them is places as don’t show their 
hands.” 

Henry explained it more fully to Dobbins, who, after 
deep thought, said : “ How about that shaded woman, 
who’s she ? Seems she had pretty clear control over 
them all.” 

“ I only know that she was Mr. Cowell’s house- 
keeper, and naturally took charge after his death when 
his wife was away.” 

“If Sir John Conolly hadn’t up and died, we’d have 
had it clear, but I should think a pestilence was after 
'em the way they died or took flight.” 

“ I want you to keep on, Dobbins ; perhaps you can 
find out if they have gone abroad. By the way, if I 
knew where the children were at school, we might find 
out where they passed their vacations ; no one about 
here seems to know Mrs. Cowell’s name. Probably 
that box was not sent to her. But the children’s school 
— can you try for that ?” 

“ What was their names ? ” 

“ Kate and William Stepney.” 

“ Are you sure they went to school ? ” 

“No; I only know that Mrs. Cowell had not seen 
them for a long time.” 

“’Twould be a job to visit all the schools in England 
and on the Continent.” 

Henry sighed, and wished the world was only half 


MRS. GREGORY. 


161 

its size. His only hope was in Dobbins. There was, 
however, a mitigated form of misery or relief in talk- 
ing over the pros and cons with Mr. Lemon. This 
kind friend knew all the neighborhood, and was sure 
that neither a Mrs. Cowell nor a Miss Jones had ever 
resided there. 

“ That proves the box was not sent to Mrs. Cowell.” 

“ Exactly,” replied Mr. Lemon ; “ and I advise you to 
travel. Your friend may be on the Continent. If so, 
that is the place to find her.” 

This was undeniable, and therefore they soon con- 
vinced each other that she had gone abroad, and that 
Mr. Mason could do nothing better than follow her, 
which he proceeded to do much more closely than he 
suspected. 

ii 


CHAPTER XIX. 


It would be a difficult matter to include in these 
pages any account of the erratic journey proposed by 
Alice, who, with Will, made exhaustive studies of vari- 
ous guide-books. 

“We need not plan the routes/’ she wisely decided. 
“Mr. Selwyn says we need only tell Gennaro where we 
want to go, and he will land us on the spot.” 

“You talk as if we were cannon-balls, to be fired 
off,” laughed Nettie, as they were deciding what to do 
first on the day after their arrival in Paris. “ When 
will Gennaro be here ? ” 

“ Mr. Selwyn promised to see him as soon as pos- 
sible, and to send him. Meanwhile, we can do a little 
sight-seeing on our own account. I rather miss that 
old fidget. I wish he had offered his services as 
courier instead of whisking off to Rome.” 

“ We could not have gone travelling about under his 
escort,” remarked the accepted head of the party. 

“ If he had turned into a courier , you rigid example, 
we might.” 

“He must have lodged with the servants, then,” re- 
turned Will. “Try and live without him for a few 
months, my dear.” 

“ Live without him, indeed ! I wonder how often 
we have seen him in a year.” 

“ I do not know how often you have seen him. Stop 
pulling my best hair. I was all gotten up to kill.” 

“I recognized you as ready for conquest,” said Nettie. 


MRS. GREGORY. 1 63 

“ Order an open carriage, and we will drive in the 
Bois.” 

They were not as anxious about galleries and 
churches as they ought to have been, preferring to 
enjoy the delicious weather in driving rather than in 
sight-seeing, so that the few weeks passed in Paris 
were by no means educational. “We will do that part 
another time ; the air is too lovely to be breathed inside 
of walls,” was the united voice. 

One day a letter came to Alice from Mr. Mills. 

“ Don’t read it to me,” said Nettie. “ One reason of 
my coming here was to forget him and the annoyance 
he has been. Is there any news in it ?” 

Alice laughed. “ How can I tell you if I am not to 
read it ? No, there is nothing ; it is only a long mes- 
sage to you. Widow Green misses you. The Beck 
children have whooping-cough. He is studying the 
Sermon on the Mount, and wishes to know whether 
you think we are to live literally according to its re- 
quirements. And here is something. Do you remem- 
ber the gate-way with the vines, where there is such a 
lovely view of the lake ? The owner died in August, 
you know. We never heard his name. Mr. Mills says 
some awfully rich American has taken possession. 
Why he tells us this I do not know, unless he supposes 
we may be induced to return.” 

“Carriage is ready, Nettie,” said Will. “What is it? 
Bad news ? ” 

“No, you absurd boy ; only a letter from Mr. Mills 
to me.” 

“ If he writes to Nettie I’ll shoot him,” remarked 
Master Stepney. 

“There is no danger,” said Nettie, in such a dreary 
voice that Alice wished she had not mentioned America. 

In a few days Gennaro came. He proved to be all 


MRS. GREGORY. 


164 

that Mr. Selwyn represented — quiet, respectful, and 
thoroughly capable of taking charge of the party. He 
was somewhat bewildered by the number of places 
they wished to see before the winter, and passed some 
anxious hours over the problem of the seasons, but 
finally advised a slow journey toward South Italy and 
Naples, planning to reach Rome in time for the Christ- 
mas festivities. This was pronounced “jolly,” and 
never did courier or tourists have a more delightful 
journey. Its only anxiety was borne by Nettie, in her 
continual dread of attracting attention. The others 
were so outspoken in their delight, so untiring in their 
excursions, Alice was so tall and so attractive, and Will 
and Kate so buoyant, that Mrs. Gregory’s party was, 
without doubt, rather too demonstrative to please the 
taste of the average English critic. She did her best 
in striving to control them, entreating them to remem- 
ber they were in public places, but with very small 
effect ; some burst of laughter was always betraying 
their youthfulness, till Nettie could only do propriety 
behind her own veil, wearing it double whenever it was 
endurable, or when they seemed to be remarked. 

“I was born in India, you know,” said Alice, “and 
somehow forget my English stilts.” 

“What are they ? ” inquired Kate. 

“ Sticks on which English people mount when they 
proclaim their nationality,” returned Alice, thereby 
greatly enlightening the child. 

Kate possessed the usual inquiring mind of the aver- 
age child, but Alice and Will talked so much and so fast, 
that by the time she was ready to ask an explanation of 
one subject they were ages off on another. Nettie tried 
to help her young sister, but was usually interrupted. 

“Do stop teaching and prosing. It will burst upon 
her suddenly some day. You’ll be surprised, Kate, 


MRS. GREGORY. 


165 

when all at once you know everything. Look at those 
rows of poplars, like sentinels guarding the fields. 
Dreary, don’t you think ? ” 

So Kate gazed upon the poplars, and wished that 
Alice would let Nettie tell her why certain drives were 
called “ boulevards ; ” but no, they were travelling 
through la belle France then, and there was enough to 
talk of in the changing scenes. Gennaro elected to 
pass the first night at Dijon, where the best rooms of 
the Hotel de la Cloche were ready for them. 

As they entered the gate of the town Alice exclaimed : 
“ Paradise at last. Look, Nettie, ‘ Mendicite est defendu.' 
Can it be possible that we have reached a land where 
there are no beggars, and that we live ? ” 

“ Is everybody rich here ? ” asked Kate. 

“ Now, Kate, see if you can find out for yourself. 
It’s against the law to be poor, evidently ; see if the law 
is regarded.” 

“ I fancy the law is more against begging than beg- 
gary,” said Nettie, prosaically ; but Alice by that time 
was full of interest in the quaint old hotel and their 
rattling entrance into the court. My travellers, how- 
ever, will never reach Naples if I tell of their journey to 
Marseilles, or enjoy with them the three glorious days 
on the Mediterranean. Four young people in perfect 
health, interested in everything, proved to be a party 
whose conversation was little else than exclamations of 
admiration and delight. 

Will aired a little information in regard to the time 
when Rome spread her gigantic arms around the inland 
sea, but was promptly suppressed by Alice, who sug- 
gested that if they remembered what existed then and 
there it would be quite enough. “ I hate the old Ro- 
mans,” she continued; “they were so cruel and so 
grasping. When we get to the Coliseum don t dare to 


MRS. GREGORY. 


1 66 

remind me of ‘ early Christians,’ and of how the wild 
beasts enjoyed their meals. I positively forbid Sparta- 
cus at Paestum, and that awful story about the prisoners 
from the Neapolitan prisons destroying the Christians. 
Do let us rejoice in the present and for once shut hor- 
rors from our thoughts.” 

Will retired behind his school-books. Then Naples ; 
the bay ; Capri, the cloud land, resting on its blue 
waters ; Vesuvius with its pillar of cloud in the day 
and its pillar of fire in the night ; the Villa Reale ; the 
Chiaja — but why enumerate the familiar list ? We all 
know how full each day is of new scenes, new joys, 
new thoughts. The weather proved too warm to re- 
main long in the city ; therefore, after a few days at the 
Victoria, Gennaro took them to Sorrento as a point 
dappui , making excursions from that lovely spot. 

Vesuvius, fortunately more peaceful than usual, gave 
them a day for several reasons never to be forgotten. 
As they were driving up to the little inn where the 
donkeys were waiting, Will reminded Nettie of a 
china figure in her possession and insisted that their 
mother had told them something about Vesuvius in 
regard to it. For some time Nettie could not recall it ; 
at last she remembered they were told that the figure, 
which was of an old priest carrying a basket of wine 
bottles, represented the one who would offer refresh- 
ments if they ever ascended Vesuvius. “ I remember 
it all now!” she exclaimed; “mamma said, ‘If you 
ever go there be sure to look for him.’ Thank you, 
Will, for reminding me.” 

“ Hope you don’t object, Alice, to this bit of family 
history,” remarked Will. 

“ By no means, my dear ; find your old priest and 
get some of his wine. I have learned to like the fruity 
flavors.” 


MRS. GREGORY. 


1 67 

They drove to the garden ; Gennaro prepared the 
little table for them in the arbor. “ I did not bring 
the wine,” he said ; “we do buy it here.” 

“ Priest expected,” said Will, indistinctly, from the 
middle of an orange. 

“ Sure enough, there he is ! ” said Alice. 

“Isn’t half as good-looking or as fat as he was in 
china,” mumbled Will. 

He was good-natured, however, and offered his 
wine from just such a basket as the one carried by 
their china priest. Gennaro selected the best, Nettie 
insisted on paying double for it, which generosity pro- 
duced such beaming smiles that Will, who actually 
ceased eating in surprise at seeing the original of 
their mantel ornament, said, “ Give him another dol- 
lar, Nettie ; he expanded so much on that one, I know 
one more will blow him up to the size of our old fellow.” 
They had a good deal of amusement over this (an actual 
occurrence), and Gennaro said he would tell the father 
about it some other time ; another party were arriving 
and they must hasten to procure the best donkeys. 

The other party consisted of a clerical-looking per- 
sonage, with his wife and daughter, accompanied by a 
remarkably tall and fine-looking man. On this arrival 
Nettie’s veil came down as she followed her merry party. 
They had the usual experiences and difficulties in as- 
cending the mountain, and were struck with a cold 
wind and chill when they reached the top. A rain of 
the previous night made everything wet and uncomfort- 
able ; they gazed into the crater, heard all the expla- 
nations of the guides, wondered and exclaimed, col- 
lected lava, had hard work to keep Will from going 
into the crater, and then realized that their boots were 
wet through. Nettie looked in dismay at Kate’s. “ She 
will certainly take cold,” she said, in some anxiety. 


i68 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ We are ail in the same box,” said Alice. “ Perhaps 
Will will take them down to that furnace for us and 
dry them.” 

“Not I,” said Will. “ I’ve changed my mind. Here 
is a lovely crack in the ground, with hot steam coming 
up ; let us all sit on the edge and hang our feet down.” 

They were alone on the mountain, so Nettie did not 
reprove the shouts of laughter with which they ac- 
cepted this relief, but with the others sat on the edge, 
her boots in the hot air. Will added oranges to the 
entertainment, and, quite forgetting the other party, 
who might come at any moment, they enjoyed their 
usual jokes. The spirit of mischief assailed Signorino 
Stepperne, as Gennaro called him. “ Look out ! ” he 
shouted, “ the crack is shutting up ; you’ll all be fast- 
ened in ! ” 

The oranges flew one way, the three girls tumbled 
over the other, only interested in rescuing their feet, all 
screaming as women do. Gennaro ran to the rescue, 
lifting up the signora with tenderest care. 

“ There is not a danger,” he said. 

“Not the slightest,” said the clergyman, who with 
his party reached the summit just at this crisis, and 
hastened to pick up the ladies. 

Will ran off, Kate after him, Alice was laughing to 
suffocation, while poor Nettie, quickly doubling her 
veil, tried to explain both why they were in the crack, 
and why they were out of it, but with such evident em- 
barrassment that the ladies of the party turned away to 
relieve her, joining the tall man, whose services not be- 
ing needed, was trying to gaze serenely upon the boiling 
and bubbling furnaces below them. It all happened in 
a moment, they bowed and separated, leaving Nettie 
ready to cry with vexation. She hastened Gennaro to 
return. Nothing was said till after the race down the 


MRS. GREGORY. 


169 

cone of the mountain ; then, as they mounted the don- 
keys, Will pleasantly informed his sister that Kate’s veil 
blew toward the crater and then into it, and that “ the 
tall fellow said he was going down and would get it.” 

“ Oh, Will, I hope you told him it was no matter.” 

“ Not I. He was laughing so at the remarkable sight 
of two middle-aged females lying prostrate at his feet, 
heads down, boots up, to put it mildly, that he did not 
dare to approach one of us. Gennaro told me about 
the veil.” 

“Middle-aged females, indeed!” exclaimed Alice. 
“You’ll suffer for your performances to-day, my boy.” 

Nettie was past speaking. A dead silence fell on the 
party until they were in the carriage driving to Sor- 
rento ; then — 

“Alice, wasn’t it too dreadful ? ” 

“ Entirely too dreadful.” 

“What must they think of us ?” 

“ I cannot imagine.” 

“ I tried to explain.” 

“ Ye-es, but you did not make it very clear.” 

“Oh, Alice, do say something comforting.” 

“ It’s beyond me, Nettie. The man is a clergyman ; 
perhaps he will, in a Christian spirit, place himself in 
our position, and realize that we did our best to get 
out of the hole.” 

“But the other man, Alice ?” 

“ He ran off. He is a coward.” 

“No such thing, Alice,” put in Will. “ He is strug- 
gling even now with the fumes of sulphur to save 
Kate’s veil. I doubt if he ever returns. Besides, if you 
could have seen yourselves as others saw you — ” and 
here Will went into such shouts of laughter that he 
could say no more. 

“ I’ll never forget as I was lying on my back, in that 


170 


MRS. GREGORY. 


instant’s struggle to turn over, the view of the faces 
looking down upon me — Gennaro’s and the clergy- 
man’s!” pathetically said Nettie. 

“ I was wickedly neglected,” said Alice ; “ you had 
two admirers to help you.” 

“ Aditiirers ! I like that,” said Will. 

“ Why did the tall man go off ? ” asked Kate. 

“My little love,” explained Will, tenderly, “the tall 
man is a person of deep feeling ; he could not endure 
to look upon two such very young ladies in a reversed 
position. It upset his preconceived views of propriety. 
He turned away his head and pretended that nothing 
had happened. The one crater attracted his attention, 
the two craters—-” 

“ Pray don’t be so vulgar as to try to make such silly 
puns, and do stop talking about it. I must forget it,” 
said Nettie. 

“ Yes — ’pun honor ! ” 

Alice and Nettie refused to notice the aggravating 
sinner, who finally joined Gennaro on the outside of 
the carriage, while the others relapsed into silence. 

They heard no more of the party to whom they really 
had afforded great amusement. Kate’s veil was not re- 
stored. 

“The tall fellow perished, evidently,” was Will’s 
comment. 

Nettie would not refer to the disastrous day, and by 
degrees new sights and interests filled their minds. 
Gennaro was indefatigable and inexhaustible in re- 
sources ; every day was filled with pleasure. 

“ If the signora pleases, to-morrow will be propitious 
to see the Blue Grotto and Capri,” he said one evening. 

“ The signora ” pleased, and the plans were made 
for the excursion. 


CHAPTER XX. 


“ Capri, Capri, to-day ! ” exclaimed Kate, as she 
jumped from her little gray donkey after the early morn- 
ing ride, which she and her brother always took be- 
fore breakfast. 

“Si, si,” said Gennaro ; “but you have not yet a 
breakfast. We go at ten of time.” 

“ I don’t want anything to eat ; we had such lots of 
oranges,” said Kate. 

“ I do, then. I could eat a paving-stone. Come 
along, don’t be silly, and pretend you are not hungry. 
There’s Nettie. Be off, you ridiculous apologies for 
horses ! ” This direction being emphasized by a crack 
of Will’s whip, the donkeys trotted off without delay. 
Kate followed her hungry brother inside, where Nettie 
and Alice were good-naturedly waiting for them. 

“You blessed child,” said Nettie, kissing the bright 
face ; “your rosy cheeks do my heart good.” 

“Being a contrast to their pale-green hue when she 
came from school. Is not red the complementary color 
of green ? By the by, Kate, did you live on spinach and 
green fruit at school ? No matter ; don’t try to answer, 
my dear ; never speak when you are eating in that rapid 
way. Nettie, give me your unbiased opinion, was there 
ever anything invented so delightful as this free-and- 
easy life ? No wonder that red cheeks are the rule ; 
yours are beginning to show symptoms of color. I do 
think the independence of travelling with a hired man 
to bear all burdens is simply perfect.” Thus, Alice. 


172 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ Yes,” laughed Nettie ; “ husbands and brothers bully 
one so, and as a man seems necessary to make arrange- 
ments and to do the fighting, I must acknowledge the 
comfort of having one under orders.” 

“ You always order me ’round,” remarked Will. 

“Not as I do Gennaro, nor at all with the same de- 
lightful assurance that the harder the task the more 
intense the happiness I shower upon him. Whether 
he is sincere or not I cannot tell, but I find myself ac- 
cepting the position and positively believing that no 
greater pleasure can be bestowed on mortal man than 
that of executing my orders.” 

“ On, that ‘ mortal man,’ ” corrected Will. 

“Yes, if you like,” returned his sister; “you appre- 
ciate the difference in my feeling, I see.. I am never 
sure that you enjoy my orders.” 

“ If he does I would issue a few in regard to oranges. 
To my certain knowledge he devoured six before break- 
fast ; now six mandarins have followed them, to say 
nothing of a plate of rolls, and in fact nearly every- 
thing else,” said Alice. 

“ It takes lots of food to manufacture those red 
cheeks that make Nettie so happy,” replied Will, look- 
ing around for more worlds to conquer. 

“We didn’t have much at school,” said Kate, “and 
Will is making up for it.” 

“ Eat away, my boy ; I only wonder at you. Some 
go for quality, some for quantity ; suit yourself,” said 
Alice. 

“Where did you ride ?” asked Nettie. 

“Along the shore road toward Naples, then turned 
to the right, and, oh, the dearest old woman came to 
the door of her cottage ; she was as ugly as she could 
be, but had such a pleasant face. She said something 
and Gennaro said it was, ‘ may the saints bless your 


MRS. GREGORY. 1 73 

pretty faces,’ so we nodded and smiled, and said, ‘thank 
you.’ The people are so good,” answered Kate. 

“Signora,” said Gennaro, “the boat is ready now if 
the signora pleases.” 

“ Will, shall he carry you ? ” asked Alice. 

“Shut up, Alice, you’re real mean. I hope you’ll 
be hungry sometime.” 

“Will you divide with me, then ?” she retorted. 

“No one will have want,” said Gennaro, who supposed 
there was some reference to possible famine. “I have 
prepared much luncheon, chicken, much mandarins, 
all that is needed. We remain the night in Capri.” 

“Yes, yes, come everybody. I wonder if that tall 
man will be there. Let that basket alone, Will.” 

“ I only want to be sure there are two chickens. 
Lunch is the best part of the rum old temples.” 

“ We are going to a cave, you silly boy,” said Nettie, 
as they left the room. 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if a temple was stowed away in 
it somewhere. Of all tiresome sights those everlasting 
ruins are the tiresomest.” 

“These intelligent remarks, and high-toned senti- 
ments of my cousin are most elevating,” said Alice, run- 
ning after Will, who was racing down the hill. These 
two were kindred spirits, continually called to order by 
Nettie, who now exclaimed, “ Oh, Alice.” 

“ Nonsense, my dear, you do dignity enough for us 
all. I sympathize with Will. He and I wore the yoke 
in our youth.” 

“ Rather a light yoke, what with ghosts and ghouls,” 
returned Nettie, laughing at the flying figures. 

“Oh, did you ever see a ghost? Did anybody?” 
asked Kate. 

“ Nobody, ever,” replied Nettie, with decision. 
« Here we are,” as the boat was reached, and fairly in- 


174 


MRS. GREGORY. 


toxicated with pleasure they stowed themselves in it, 
and bounded over the waves. 

“ Down with your heads,” called Will, who was in 
the habit of “ doing ” Gennaro’s words into English. 
Then the Blue Grotto ! Such screams of delight, such 
expressions of wonder, made the stolid oarsmen smile 
in half derision, while the more sympathetic rocks 
echoed their joyful words. 

“ Let us have a song,” said Alice. “ Is there any other 
boat in the grotto ? ” asked the lady who did the dig- 
nified. 

“ I have believe not,” answered Gennaro. 

“ Go it,” said Will. 

Then “ God save the Queen ” was sung with a hearty 
good will, but at the end of the last verse, to the con- 
sternation of the head of the party, a grand bass voice 
joined with them, followed by an applause as of a dozen 
claquers. 

Dead silence from the singers. 

“I ask the signora’s pardon,” said Gennaro, in dis- 
tress. “ I did not to see.” 

“ I am sorry,” said Nettie, in a low voice. “ Alice, 
do speak quietly.” 

The other boat kept out of the possibility of recog- 
nition ; only a dark object could be distinguished. 

“ Like a dead whale floating,” said Alice. 

“ Alice, please be quiet.” 

“ My dear, I cannot. There is something in the air, 
or in the independence, that I cannot repress.” 

Nettie sighed resignedly, determined not to speak 
again. The idea of drawing attention to a party such 
as theirs made her very uncomfortable. The irrepres- 
sibles alternated between whispers and bursts of laugh- 
ter, while Gennaro went on as usual with his descriptions 
and guide-book explanations. 


MRS. GREGORY. 


175 


Somehow the semi-darkness, the weird, blue light, 
and the boat in the distance exactly behind them, dis- 
posed Nettie more to reverie than talk. She often 
longed for quiet sympathy. So much that they saw 
teemed with a life of bygone centuries, so much was 
surrounded by a very atmosphere of thought, that it 
was often a struggle to join in the perpetual fun of her 
cousin, who had but little respect for antiquity, and 
who saw in a ruin only its picturesqueness. Nettie 
would often start suddenly when expected to answer 
some new outburst of nonsense, and wonder what Alice 
meant by exclaiming, “ Rayther a sudden pull up, 
Samivel.” 

She had never entirely recovered from the ghostly 
pranks of her cousin, and the presence of the unseen 
singer, hidden in the dark shadows of the cave, made 
her nervous again. 

“ I cannot endure this any longer,” she said. “ We 
must go out into the air.” 

“What has happened, Nettie? I thought you had 
given up being nervous.” 

“ No matter what I am. Hasten Gennaro.” 

“ Si, signora ; ” but as the boat turned toward the en- 
trance, the steady fall of oars was heard following them. 

“Quick,” exclaimed Nettie ; “pay them, Gennaro.” 

A few words from Gennaro sent the boat swiftly 
through the opening, and Nettie’s color returned. 
“ Land as soon as possible, and pray don’t call any 
more attention to us,” she said, addressing everybody. 

Will signified assent by putting his finger on his lips, 
and looking severely at his cousin, who was trying to 
keep from laughing. 

“ If you will be good, Cousin Alice,” he said, in a 
loud whisper, “ I’ll bring you again some day when she 
is taking a nap.” 


1 76 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ I’d thank you if I dared to speak,” whispered Alice. 

“ You may come and spend a week if you will only 
let me get to dry land now,” returned Nettie, half 
crying. 

They landed before the other boat came in sight. It 
had evidently been farther behind than they supposed 
amid the uncertain lights and echoes of the cave, so that 
they were on their way to the hotel before it reached 
the shore. Comfortable rooms were ready for them, 
but before thinking of refreshment they stood trans- 
fixed on the terrace of the Tibere, gazing on the superb 
view from that point : the oriental-looking village, 
surrounded with hills, each bearing a ruined memory ; 
the steep descent to the bay, terraced with vineyards 
and rich with orange groves ; the blue water, so clear 
that another world seemed imprisoned beneath its 
crystal surface. The mountainous surroundings, with 
the mysterious smoke of Vesuvius, formed a picture 
that arrested even the versatile mind of Alice. One 
backward vision rose in Nettie’s heart. Henry had 
written to her of these very scenes. Where was the 
lover of her girlhood ? Where was the one who, 
though young, had never failed to give some aspiration 
to her thoughts, to add to life a deeper meaning than 
seemed possible in its prosaic passing ? She misjudged 
herself when she felt that the years of her separation 
from him were wasted for 

“ Sorrow, whose employ 
Was to develop, not destroy, 

Proved better than a barren joy.” 

“ When that reverie is over, my dear,” remarked 
Alice, “ please tell me what was amiss with you in the 
grotto ? ” 

“ I hardly know. The air oppressed me from the 


MRS. GREGORY. 


1 77 


first. The blue light dazed me, and reminded me of 
the horrible fright you gave me on the ghost night. 
Then that voice in the darkness. I would have shrieked 
or fainted if we had remained much longer.” 

“ It was best to come out, of course, and I ought to 
be perpetually punished for the injury I have done you. 
It will be long before I forgive myself. But, Nettie, 
the singer was only some other visitor like ourselves. 
It was hideous in him to join our song. The wrong 
was his, not ours. Try, dear, not to be so sensitive 
about little things. Perhaps he is the tall man again.” 

“I sincerely hope not, after that Vesuvius affair, and 
I trust we will never meet him again. He was silly to 
go down that crater. It was not the least like an Eng- 
lishman.” 

“ Gennaro isgood on nationalities, he calls him the Eng- 
lish Milor. However, we will probably never meet him 
again. I am going out ; I suppose one may walk alone?” 

“Get some mandarins,” said Nettie. 

“ I think so. Will ate twenty-four to my certain knowl- 
edge, yesterday. You really give him too much money.” 

“ If he were not so perfectly well, I would limit him, 
but I want him to enjoy every moment, and my idea of 
enjoyment is liberty.” 

“You ought to go to the States ; isn’t it there they 
make such a fuss about liberty, and had slaves to prove 
their belief in it ? What an inconsistent nation that 
transatlantic tribe is ! ” 

Nettie sighed as the thought of Henry came again to 
her, whereupon Alice hastened to change the subject, 
for with all her lightheartedness she watched Nettie 
with a tender love. Her way of doing this was by re- 
marking, “ Isn’t it jolly ? ” 

“ What ? ” asked Nettie as they were going to their 


rooms. 


12 


i 7 8 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“ Everything ; I only know one thing better. I would 
like to have been born old Cowell’s widow, with two 
children like Will and Kate.” 

Nettie laughed heartily. 

“ A crape veil on my cradle would have been a nuis- 
ance, certainly, but I would have outgrown it.” 

“ You would have made short work of it,” laughed 
Nettie. 

“ True, so I would. I am content, you give me all 
I need, and what I don’t need I buy with my own in- 
come ; don’t ‘ income ’ sound grand ?” 

“Very; you’d better not speak about it; some one 
will fall in love with your money. What is coming ? 
Is it a hurricane ? ” 

“ Oh, Nettie,” exclaimed Will, rushing in, “ it was that 
tall man after all ; he came in the boat after us, and I 
said, ‘ Bless me, it’s the same fellow again.’ ” He 
stopped to take breath. 

“ Then he said,” added Kate, “ ‘ Are you speaking of 
me, my boy ? ’ ” 

“ Oh, children ! ” exclaimed Nettie. Alice was laugh- 
ing but asked, “ What next ?” 

“Why I said that sister thought he died in the crater ; 
then he said, ‘ What is your sister’s name ?’ and when I 
said Mrs. Gregory, he looked vexed, and marched off 
to his boat.” 

“Yet he kept looking back at us, and once stopped 
and turned around as if he Were coming back ; his face 
seemed to be asking something about us,” said Kate. 

“ I am glad he has gone ; pray don’t say any more 
about him. There is Gennaro with a carriage ; come, 
give up your walk, Alice, and we will explore ; perhaps 
Will may rejoice in few more ruins.” 


Exeunt. 


CHAPTER XXL 


Although Capri proved very attractive, they were 
glad to return to the quaint hotel at Sorrento, under 
the care of the good-natured brothers, who never 
seemed better pleased than when ministering to the 
wants of their guests. The house is built upon a rock 
which rises sheer out of the sea. Their rooms were on 
its edge. Looking out of the windows they saw only 
the water, for the rock was a straight and solid wall 
beneath them. The sea beat in steady throbs against 
this Titan foundation. The last room of their suite 
was chosen by Will, because, as he said, “It is too 
dreary for women, and has a ruffianly banditti expres- 
sion.” This was because of a mysterious door that 
could not possibly open into anything but the air, and 
which was fastened securely. This door occupied 
much of his thoughts ; however, he kept much of his 
own counsel, until he discovered that it did not open 
outside. His was the last room, that was certain ; a 
comparison of the inside and outside windows proved 
this. The door was inside only. This naturally sug- 
gested an opening into the wall. Alice was taken into 
his confidence ; she declared she would have nothing to 
do with mysteries — that it was probably a closet. “ Why 
is it so barred and bolted, then ? ” asked Will. 

“ Nonsense, it’s a preserve closet.” 

“ Don’t be ridiculous, Alice. The fastenings are on 
the inside, even the bars are secured by a lock.” 


i8o 


MRS. GREGORY. 


This looked more serious. Alice puckered up her 
forehead, and proposed calling one of the brothers to 
settle it at once. “ Nettie and Kate are out ; see if 
Stephano will come,” she said. 

Stephano came. He first made them promise that 
the little sister should not be trusted there, then with 
one wonderful key introduced upside down for one 
bolt, sideways for another, the handle first for a third, 
the bars yielded ; a circular, narrow staircase was dis- 
closed cut in the solid rock, and which, as Will delight- 
edly exclaimed, “ Lands you square in the Mediter- 
ranean Sea ! ” 

He and Alice crept down, and peered out of a sort 
of irregular door into the water, and listened to fascin- 
ating stories of mysterious robberies and murders that 
these steps had concealed. 

“A heavy piece of furniture stood against the door,” 
said Stephano, “ when we bought the place ; we thought 
the bars were sufficient protection. Such things do not 
happen now,” then he added reflectively, “ so often.” 

“ It will never do to tell Nettie ; she will be fancying 
I may wander down in my sleep, or that some wretches 
may creep up and murder us. However, if she don’t 
treat us well, we can escape here, or, by the by, Alice, 
you can elope with Mr. Selwyn, or drown yourself if he 
never corner again, I’ll never ” 

What Will would never do, did not appear, for he 
fled before his cousin’s upraised hand, an opportunity 
seized by the careful Stephano to fasten his bolts 
again. “That is right,” said Alice, returning, after 
vainly trying to catch Will ; “fasten it up. It’s awfully 
uncanny, and don’t tell the signora about it.” 

The signora and Kate were seen then, entering the 
gate. They lingered in the garden, among its orange- 
trees and arbors. The little donkevs common and 

O 


MRS. GREGORY. 


8l 


going, as needed or dismissed by the guests, were Kate’s 
especial delight. She was never tired of making the 
docile creatures happy by praising and patting them. 
They soon learned to look for her, and gave many a 
boisterous concert when she came in sight. After the 
Capri excursion, Nettie only took short walks, prefer- 
ring to rest in her comfortable chair, by the window, 
where she could indulge in perpetual reveries. 
“ Henry, Henry,” was the burden of her thoughts. 
His letter was impressed upon her memory ; there was 
no need to take it out ; she knew every loving word, but 
where was the writer ? Had he forgotten ? 

“ Oh, Nettie,” exclaimed Kate, rushing in at the door 
as Will and Alice came in through a window, “ that 
tall man has taken rooms herewith that English party ; 
they are taking an early dinner together.” 

“ My dear Kate, I cannot allow this sort of gossip. 
We have no interest in the tall man ; you must not take 
notice of other people and their affairs ; it is shockingly 
bad taste. Be as happy as you can with us, remember 
to make no acquaintances, although if you are spoken 
to, you must reply civilly, but not in a way to encour- 
age conversation.” 

Kate was subdued, but she and Will had a wonderful 
desire to know everything about everybody, consider- 
ing this sort of intelligence much more interesting than 
the quotations from Murray to which Nettie treated 
them occasionally. Alice was quite willing to listen to 
their items of information, most of which were gathered 
from Gennaro. This faithful servant watched every 
English party, found out exactly what they ordered, 
arid forthwith proceeded to add whatever had been be- 
fore omitted in the menu of his signora, whom he 
thought the most beautiful and most grand of any 
English lady he had yet seen. His responsibility was 


182 


MRS. GREGORY. 


great, for he wished to make her and her party per- 
fectly comfortable and perfectly happy. 

As for Nettie herself, she enjoyed their life in a sub- 
dued way, but the others were so full of spirits it was 
almost impossible to keep them within bounds, and 
now this ubiquitous “ tall man ” added to her cares. 
She wished he had not come to their hotel ; it was so 
vexatious to have the conscious feeling that she had 
about him. “ What are you thinking of, Nettie ? Come, 
let us have a walk; we want to go to that view, don’t 
you know, that Gennaro told us of,” said Will. 

“Yes,” replied Nettie ; “ it’s agood time, while he is 
at dinner.” 

“ He ! Who ? Gennaro ? ” asked Alice. 

“No, nobody; I was thinking of something else. 
How the sun glares to-day. Put on your veil, Kate ; I 
have a lovely, thick blue one.” 

“And most hideous you look under it,” remarked 
Alice, who was fully emancipated from such minor 
considerations as complexions. “ I love the sunlight.” 

“So does Mr. Selwyn,” said Will, escaping by the 
window again. 

Kate chose to go on one of the donkeys ; the rest pre- 
ferred to walk. 

“Take us somewhere where we will be alone,” whis- 
pered Nettie to Gennaro, hoping for once to have the 
comfort of letting her irrepressibles have full enjoy- 
ment of both limbs and tongues. 

Kate, who thought there was no happiness to equal 
a ride on a donkey, had gone ahead. Gennaro hovered 
around the signora ; Alice and Will were having some 
argument, so that Nettie was the only listener to the 
occasional descriptions that Gennaro thought it his 
duty to give. Presently Kate was discovered in a con- 
troversy with her donkey. He refused to go another 


MRS. GREGORY. 


83 


step. She patted and petted, and called him loving 
names, but no — his legs, straightened out in the most 
determined manner, proved him as adamant to all her 
cajolery. “ He is only tired,” she explained to Nettie, 
as her sister came up to her ; “go on, I will come when 
he is rested.” Kate seemed as much at home on the 
little animal as on her feet ; Gennaro saw no danger, 
so Nettie walked on with her guide, seeing Will and 
Alice far ahead. 

“ Is this the shortest way, Gennaro ? ” she asked. 
“ It is rather steep.” 

“No, my lady ; there is a road more easy, but more 
of public disposition. I came this for the alone.” 

Nettie could see Alice going towards the cliff, from 
where they were to have the view. Will seemed to 
have been attracted in another direction. Suddenly 
she saw a tall figure loom up against the sky. 

“ I think I will not go any further,” she said. “ I 
will wait here ; tell the signorita to return.” 

A sudden scream alarmed her, and turning she saw 
Kate’s donkey on a full run, Kate clinging to his neck 
and screaming at the top of her voice. They seemed 
to fly past her, and toward the cliff ! Gennaro ran 
after them, and Nettie, paralyzed with terror, knew 
she was watching to see Kate bound into the sea! Two 
figures were also watching : Alice and the tall man. 
“ Oh, can they stop him ?” exclaimed Nettie, power- 
less to help, but unable to turn away. 

The moment of terror was almost sublime, but that 
tandem team of sublime and ridiculous seemed to lead 
Nettie’s party, for at the exact moment that the donkey 
was ready to rush to certain death, the strong figure 
who was thus to gain Nettie’s eternal gratitude re- 
ceived the shock, and although almost prostrated by 
the blow, succeeded in holding the frightened creature 


MRS. GREGORY. 


184 

and catching Kate, while Alice, having made a rush 
for the donkey’s tail, would inevitably have pulled it 
out, if her tall friend had not been holding the other 
end so firmly. 

Nettie laughed hysterically — Kate was safe ; but on 
the cliff, clearly projected against the pale blue sky, 
was the absurd picture — the donkey held at both ends, 
Alice leaning back pulling his tail, the tall man clasp- 
ing his neck with one hand, and holding Kate by the 
other. It was over in a moment. Gennaro and Will 
appeared on the scene ; Nettie sat down by the road- 
side, laughing and crying, too much overcome to go 
farther. Presently they all came down to her, except 
the rescuer, who very properly effaced himself at once, 
touching his hat, and expressing his gratification at 
having been of service. He remained to gaze at the 
view. After this there was nothing to do but to go 
home and talk it over. Kate was well frightened, and 
Nettie held fast to her hand. Alice and Will gave an 
immense deal of advice about the management of 
donkeys in general. Will added that he thought their 
tall friend a great comfort. “ He pops up so con- 
veniently ; really, I feel as if he were watching us.” 

“ Don’t,” said Nettie ; “ I suppose I must thank 
him.” 

“I did all that,” said Alice; “you need have no 
trouble about it ; just get composed again.” 

“You looked so ridiculous by that donkey,” said Net- 
tie, laughing again. “ How could you seize his tail ? ” 

“ There was no other available handle that I saw,” 
said Alice ; “and in such an emergency one could not 
wait to choose.” 

They were entering the garden, and all the brothers 
came out to express regret, and to threaten condign 
punishment on the perverse beast, but Kate insisted on 


MRS. GREGORY. 


35 


his being forgiven. “ He didn’t know there was a cliff 
with the sea underneath. Of course, he wouldn't have 
gone there if he did. Promise you won’t punish 
him.” And they promised, as they would to have re- 
warded him with an extra dinner if she had asked it. 

In the afternoon they all went to drive but Nettie, 
and when they came home were full of a moonlight ex- 
cursion, that Gennaro proposed, “ to see the moon rise 
right out of the water. Nettie,” explained Kate, “you 
must come, and we will have a real jolly time.” 

But Nettie would not go. She said she wanted to be 
quiet. “ Perhaps I will go to bed before you return ; 
so don’t hurry ; the moon will be superb to-night, and 
if as fine to-morrow, perhaps we can go out on the 
water. Gennaro says the boats are all engaged for 
this evening.” 

They left her to her quiet evening. Ten o'clock, and 
she was still gazing over the sea. Many boats and 
many voices made the scene bright with life. Eleven 
o'clock. “ Why do they not return ! ” She began to be 
anxious. She went out in the garden ; a few loungers 
were about ; she could not stay there. She walked up 
and down their long range of rooms ; the lamps were 
not lighted ; she had opened every window to the sil- 
ver light of the moon. Twelve o'clock. No sign of the 
party ; certainly a noise in Will’s room. She entered. 
No one was there ; but a voice, oh, such a familiar 
voice ; deeper and more manly than when she heard it 
last. But was it a dream ! Where did it come from ? 
The words were very matter of fact — not at all ghostly : 
“ I really cannot tell where they go. It is dark, and 
there seems to be a door. Come up if you like, but be 
careful, the steps are narrow.” 

“ Henry ! ” she tried to call. The words died with- 
out sound. “ Oh, where is he ! ” But only in her 


86 


MRS. GREGORY. 


heart were the words heard. She heard him laugh, 
and other voices spoke. “ We had better go back,” 
some one said ; “ we may be pitched down if we are 
found out.” Then he said, “You go first; be careful 
in getting in the boat.” The sounds died away ; she 
heard oars, and that was all. 

In a few moments the party returned. Nettie was 
found in a dead faint near the barred and bolted door 
of Will’s room. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


This catastrophe sobered the party greatly. Nettie 
confided the strange occurrence to Alice, who forthwith 
held a conference with her “familiar" Will, a light hav- 
ing suddenly dawned upon her, which she did not dare 
to flash upon Nettie until she was sure of its truth. 

“Will, go at once and find out the name of that man 
whom we meet wherever we go. Why did we never 
think about that part of him ? he must have a name, 
and Nettie is sure she heard Henry’s voice the other 
side of the door in your room. I had to tell her about 
the steps down to the water, to explain it.” 

“Whew!” said Will. “I wonder if he is the long- 
lost lover. His voice always sounded to me like one I 
had heard before, but I don’t remember him at all. I’ll 
find out his name.” In a few minutes he returned, 
having met Gennaro in the garden. “ Signor Massoni, 
he left for Psestum this morning early.” 

“ Massoni ! that’s not Mason anyway. Is he an Ital- 
ian ? Gennaro always called him the English Milor.” 

“ I know no more than you do. Massoni may be 
Italian for Mason, but they don’t sound enough alike 
to say anything to Nettie. Then, Alice, there’s a real 
stunning girl in his party, and we had better not pitch 
into him till we know what she may be.” 

“I haven’t the faintest idea of pitching into anybody, 
you absurd boy. No ; we must let events take care of 
themselves, and as soon as Nettie is able we will go off 


i88 


MRS. GREGORY. 


somewhere and try to make her forget the mysterious 
voice.” 

This did not prove possible. Nettie would not yield 
an inch. She had heard Henry speak. He was on the 
other side of that door, and that was the end of it. 

They stayed a week longer in Sorrento, and then, fol- 
lowed by kind wishes and blessings from all, they went 
to Salerno, and thence to Amalfi. The drive was 
thoroughly enjoyed. It must be a hard and worldly 
heart that can resist the influences of that superb wind- 
ing road. Mountains terraced with vineyards on one 
side, the blue Mediterranean on the other, a new phase of 
beauty at every turn, make a scene of fascination that 
even the Cornishe cannot equal. 

At last, after having exhausted every adjective in 
their own language, and having made a raid into botli 
French and Italian, they reached the odd little Hotel, 
perched on a high rock, and which in its neatness and 
comfort deserves praise as high as its situation. The 
young people were, as usual, wild with delight, and with 
Alice explored every possible point of interest, and 
every old church, and all the manufactories, being es- 
pecially delighted with that of maccaroni, which they 
assured Nettie was not nearly as bad as they expected. 
“ They do throw heaps of it over their shoulders, and 
so on, but it’s great fun to see them sit on the bar that 
kneads it, and hop around the heap of paste.” 

Nothing interested Nettie as it had done at first ; she 
listened to all they said, and tried to show her pleasure, 
but her heart was with her lover, “ and he was far away.” 
That he could love any but her had not occurred to her 
trusting heart. One day she found her way to the ter- 
race of the old Capuchin convent on the high land 
above Amalfi, and having once been there, she went 
every day. The view of the sunset from that position 


MRS. GREGORY. 


189 


is something marvellous. Mountains rising on one side, 
the sea on the other, between them head-lands of ma- 
jestic rocks, groves of citron and oranges, all golden in 
the level beams of the sinking light. It was a picture 
to be indelibly impressed upon her memory. Her 
heart grew thankful as she saw this beautiful world, 
disfigured only by sin. She dreamed of great reforma- 
tions to be wrought, of much good that she might do — 
for the wealth that Mr. Cowell had left to her she held 
as a responsibility to be used for the good of others. 
The sunlight was to her a type of the spreading of the 
light of the greater Sun of Righteousness, under whose 
beams all nature would at last be glorified, and all 
beings acknowledge His power. One evening she sent 
Gennaro away, and was leaning against a vine-clad pil- 
lar. “ I want a whole hour here alone,” she told him, 
and the faithful servant contentedly sat on a stone far 
out of sight, but where he could know if danger threat- 
ened his Signora. Presently the intense stillness was 
broken by a step. She did not turn, but exclaimed : 

“O Gennaro, I cannot come yet, it is too beautiful.” 

No Gennaro answered, but in a moment Nettie was 
folded in the strong arms of her lover, and her beauti- 
ful head lay upon his shoulder, and her lovely eyes 
rested on his. Such meetings are among the indescrib- 
able. He thought he recognized her voice in the cave, 
but she was “Mrs. Gregory;” he never could catch a 
glimpse of her face, the dark hair and her blue veil de- 
stroyed any likeness, so that he gave up any thought 
of the party he so often met, as being a possible clew 
to the object of his search. He had just reached 
Amalfi, alone, having left the friends whom he acci- 
dentally joined, and hearing of the superb view from the 
convent walked there to see it. He was greeted by the 
voice whose every tone was music to him. That was 


190 


AIRS. GREGORY. 


all. The story was repeated many times on both sides. 
He explained his researches on the stone stairs. The 
party were on a moonlight sail, they discovered the 
stairs, and insisted on exploring them. 

“ And you heard me ! you, my darling ! ” 

But I will not break my resolution ; they shall have 
that sacred hour to themselves. 

Presently Gennaro, who saw the English Milor go 
up to the terrace, thought it about time to look after 
the signora, who never seemed to wish to meet any 
stranger, so, in his usual, noiseless way, he glided to the 
point where he had left his lady. 

What was his consternation — I may say his utter an- 
nihilation — when, standing with their backs to him, 
and gazing on the surging sea, were the two whom he 
supposed to be strangers in — well — in one of those po- 
sitions natural to lovers, his arm supporting her, and 
she leaning upon him. A strange inability to stand 
alone always seizes upon lovers, especially of the sud- 
denly reunited order, and this case was no exception. 
Gennaro glided back again. He sat down upon the 
cold stone, and tried to gain a solution of this mystery. 
They could not have formed an acquaintance, which 
ripened into love, and reached this culmination, in a 
half hour. “ No,” Gennaro felt, as he would have ex- 
plained it, “in his interior,” that “they must have 
known each other before, quarrelled, perhaps, and now 
all was right. Right ” but would the beautiful sig- 

nora, whose voice was music, go home with the English 
Milor, and cease to need the protection of her servant, 
Gennaro ? That view of the case was too much for 
him. She did not need him now, that was very evi- 
dent ; and as she did not know of his faithful watch, he 
went slowly down the hill, trying to be glad that the 
signora was happy. A loud greeting from Will, and the 


MRS. GREGORY. 191 

usual sounds of merriment from the three, who were 
not anxious on the subject of dignity, roused him. 

“Where is Mrs. Gregory ?” exclaimed her brother. 
“ Is she never coming home ? ” 

“ I fear she will be late,” sighed Gennaro. 

“ What on earth has happened to her ; you look like 
a ghost, Gennaro ? ” 

“A strange thing ; ” he replied ; “ this English Milor 
has spoken to my lady, they are friends, they need me 
no more, they are on the terrace of the convent, they 
gaze. upon the sea.” 

Will simply shouted — I have no more elegant word 
by which to explain his condition. He sat down by 
the roadside. “ * They gaze upon the sea ! ’ Oh, that is 
too delicious ! Alice, he is Henry after all. ‘ They 
gaze upon the sea,’ yes, and they will gaze till the sea 
is dark with n.ight unless some one goes after them.” 

Gennaro was more amazed than ever ; what was so 
amusing in the situation ? He had carefully suppressed 
the particulars, and thought his explanation could not be 
improved. He had to wait until they had all laughed 
till they could laugh no more, then Alice told him that 
this Signor Massoni had been trying to find the sig- 
nora, whom he loved, but it must have been the thick 
veil she wore that prevented his recognizing her ; evi- 
dently they had discovered each other now. 

“ Evidently, signorita,” said Gennaro, with a sigh, all 
the way from his boots, thinking how very evident it 
had been to him. 

“ Shall I go after them, Alice ? ” asked Will. 

“ By no means ; let them have the full enjoyment of 
it all. He is big enough to take care of her.” 

“ Only think, Will, how we have met and dodged that 
man. It’s Nettie’s own fault; she was always rushing 
away whenever he came in sight. What next, I wonder?” 


192 


MRS. GREGORY. 


“A wedding, but let us fight to keep on with our 
journey. Won’t they be spooney and horrid ? Nettie 
deserves some happiness, after all, and I’ll try not to 
bully her.” 

“ You’ll have your head taken off if you do, I promise 
you,” remarked Alice, who was returning to the hotel, 
while Kate was speechless with wonder. 

“ Is he the man that caught the donkey ? ” she 
asked. 

“The very same; the one who saved the donkey’s 
tail from being pulled out.” 

“ Or you from being pulled into the sea,” said Will. 

“ Is he going to marry sister Nettie ? ” 

“ I presume so,” replied Alice. 

Gennaro presumed so, too, but said no more. They 
were somewhat sobered by this time, and sat quietly on 
the little stone piazza of the hotel, and also gazed upon 
the sea. 

Presently Will exclaimed, “ There is no law about 
our not having something to eat, is there ? ” 

“No,” said Alice, reflectively; “they need us no 
more.” 

“ Fudge!” said Will. “They’ll spoon a while, and 
then come to common sense and loving relatives again. 
Bring everything that there is to eat, Gennaro ; I’m 
hungrier than ever.” 

The table was set outside, as usual ; the snowy cloth 
was covered with all sorts of tempting dishes, a lamp 
revealed their variety, while the stars twinkled and 
winkled their appreciation of the situation. In the 
midst of the feast, the low voices of the lovers were 
heard. 

“ Stand from under,” said Will ; then, according to 
their usual style, they all made a rush. “ Oh, Nettie, 
to think that he is Henry ! ” 


MRS. GREGORY. 


193 


“ Please introduce me in proper form,” said Alice. 

“ Are you old Henry ? ” asked Kate. 

Nettie was utterly amazed ; she had no idea that any 
human being knew of the reunion. It was Henry’s 
turn to laugh, and to cover the confusion of his be- 
loved. He was master of the situation, and before long, 
explanations were made, and the party were comfort- 
ably enjoying the supper which Gennaro had ordered. 

How bright the stars were that night ! How clear 
the air was ! How musically the waves beat time upon 
the shore ! 

O Happiness, thou golden goddess! Art thou, too, 
an alchemist ? 


13 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


Here the story might end, but there are a few more 
incidents connected with this party, two of whom were 
late that night before they left the little terrace porch 
of the Amalfi Hotel. Nettie was not permitted to leave 
that rocky eyrie until she promised that then and there, 
so soon as Henry’s friends could join them, she would 
fulfil her promise and be his wife. 

“ There is nothing to wait for, you know, my darling, 
and my friend, being a clergyman, shows it is regularly 
written that he came for the very purpose. He can be 
here on Thursday — no, I am sure he can come to-morrow 
afternoon, if I send in the morning early. Salerno is 
not very far ; then we can be married in the evening.” 

“ It rather takes my breath away. Why must it be 
so very soon ? ” whispered Nettie. She did not need to 
do more than whisper, for Henry was not very far off. 

“ If you can tell me, why not ? I will waste time in 
explanations.” But Nettie’s answer was not ready. They 
had too much to talk about to “ waste time,” as Henry 
said, “ in explanations,” therefore such minor affairs 
were deferred, and the following day was passed by all, 
excepting those the most concerned, in preparations 
for the evening festivities. The vettura was sent early 
to Salerno, after which the bride and groom elect disap- 
peared. There were sunny glades and rocky seats that 
sufficed for them, until the prosaic nature of hunger 
drove them home. Gennaro’s duties were heavy that 
day. What with continual feasting, and the decorations 


MRS. GREGORY. 


195 


that his Italian nature and his love for the signora 
made necessary, he was hourly running to and fro with 
fruits and flowers, and whatever of fish, flesh, or fowl the 
land or sea could be induced to give. Under his direc- 
tions the hotel became a bower of beauty. The porch, or 
terrace was enclosed with vines, and hung with colored 
lamps. There Alice proposed that the ceremony should 
be held, while the few guests could both see and hear 
from the long windows that opened upon it. The sup- 
per-table was laid inside, and prepared for their party 
of five, with Henry’s friends, Rev. and Mrs. Clerc, and 
their daughter, making eight. There was no oppor- 
tunity for elaborate toilettes, and yet Alice and Kate 
surprised Nettie by inventing quite a creditable wed- 
ding gown for her, by covering a plain white silk with 
a lace shawl, for drapery. The lace was looped with 
some of the flowers that Gennaro offered for the pur- 
pose, and when at last Nettie was robed for the “ sac- 
rifice,” as Will called it, certainly Amalfi had never seen 
a fairer bride. The Clerc family came by six o’clock, 
and were profuse in wonder and congratulations. The 
“ stunning girl ” fell to Will’s share, and was highly ap- 
preciated by that susceptible youth, while Alice would 
have been in danger of neglect, but for a very delight- 
ful circumstance, one of those nice things that so rarely 
happen in real life. This executive young woman first 
attended to the beautifying of her much-loved Nettie, 
and saw that each brown curl was in its proper place, 
and every flower and fold was fulfilling its mission. 
She then patted and smoothed Kate into position, sur- 
veying them both with much approval. While she was 
bestowing admiration and kisses ad libitum , the ubiqui- 
tous Gennaro presented a card on the silver waiter 
which Will said he kept in his pocket. 

“ Of all delicious surprises ! ” exclaimed Alice, who 


196 


MRS. GREGORY. 


always said she was glad when she felt so ; “see, Nettie 
— Mr. Selwyn ! ” and off she ran to welcome their old 
friend, and to amaze and bewilder him with the aston- 
ishing air of festivity pervading the house. 

“ You are just in time ; get into your dress coat in five 
minutes, and come directly down again. The ceremony 
will not be till nine — no, not a word, you and I can talk 
to-morrow. It will be prosy enough then and that 
he might not delay, Alice left him to obey his com- 
manding general with what speed he could. Henry 
was hovering about to catch Alice. “ I must see Net- 
tie first,” he said. “I want to have one look now, be- 
fore the others come. I must , Alice.” 

“Oh, certainly, anything for peace ; only, if you dis- 
arrange a flower or a fold, I will take an hour more.” 

This tremendous threat began his subjugation ; the 
vision of beauty before him completed it. He stood 
speechless and gazed. “That will do,” said Alice, who 
saw Nettie’s lip quiver ; “ go now, and wait in the oppo- 
site room till you are called ; I have to scramble into my 
gown.” Henry obeyed without a word ; Nettie turned 
to the window, feeling strangely, as if it were all a 
dream ; a voice attracted her ; Alice, quickly robed, was 
talking emphatically in the corridor. 

“ I will not ,” she said. “She shall go off without any 
anxiety. Do be patient.” 

“ Haven’t I been patient ? What more can you ask ? 
We will see to Will and Kate all the same. It would 
be such a delightful surprise.” 

“ Do let me alone this one evening. I cannot — I 
cannot, do believe me.” 

“What is it, Alice ?” asked Nettie. “Don’t let me 
prevent anything.” 

“ It’s only some folly of Mr. Selwyn’s,” she replied, 
wisely, closing the door. “ He wants me to recite a 


MRS. GREGORY. 


19 7 


dialogue with him. Such nonsense, and so inappro- 
priate ! Men are such idiots. Now, dear, it is time. 
One more kiss, you beautiful darling, before I give 
you up.” 

“ We will be just the same to each other, dear,” re- 
plied Nettie. 

“ In heart, yes — but come.” Henry met them ; the 
few guests were collected ; all the household were 
present ; Kate stood beside her sister, under the flowery 
canopy, while, with a deep solemnity, the Rev. Mr. 
Clerc united these long-separated, faithful souls. 

Congratulations followed, according to the usual pro- 
gramme, and all was bright and cheerful, excepting 
that Gennaro actually broke down and tied from the 
room in a paroxysm of sobs. 

He reappeared at supper-time, endeavoring to atone 
by his increased attentions, and after the signora in- 
trusted her cousin, with her brother and sister, to his 
care, until they should meet in Rome, he succeeded in 
reproducing his calm and quiet manner. 

The bride and groom left Amalfi the next morning, 
planning to rejoin the party before Christmas in Rome. 
Alice promised to take charge of her young cousins, 
giving a side-glance at Will, as she assumed this burden, 
at which he remarked, “I’d like to see you do it.” 
There was no time for more ; the vettura drove off. 

“ The end of it all being a sight of the back of Nettie’s 
hat,” said Master Stepney. 

“ Now,” said Mr. Selwyn, “ I have a little something 
to propose before the decorations are taken down. 
Will you, Mr. Clerc, do the same favor for Miss 
Stainer and for me that you have done for those who 
have gone ? ” 

Surprise and silence fell upon the party. Even Will 
only exclaimed, “ Hallo ! ” 


198 


MRS. GREGORY. 


Alice meekly took her place, and a second marriage 
ceremony was performed. The affair was so sudden 
that for a few moments not a word was spoken. Then 
Will looked around with an expectant air. 

“Next ; pass ’em on.” 

Gennaro improvised a second breakfast, during 
which they all accommodated themselves to the new 
circumstances, and were as merry a party as if they 
had passed months in preparation. They concluded to 
remain together, and continue their journey in com- 
pany until they rejoined Mr. and Mrs. Mason. Paes- 
tum and Sicily were yet to be visited, and before leav- 
ing Amalfi, the Clerc party were to be shown its 
sights. “I’ll show them,” volunteered Will; “Mr. 
Selwyn can go under Alice’s charge, instead of me,” 
which arrangement showed the wisdom of Signorino 
Stepperni, for the plan worked admirably. Alice ex- 
plained Amalfi to her husband, from the terrace of the 
convent, where they passed many whole days. Some- 
times Gennaro took their luncheon to them there. 

This good courier ascribed these hasty weddings to 
some peculiarity of nationality, and wondered greatly 
at all that had occurred. There was something unreal 
about it all. 

“Like an earthquake,” he said, reflectively. 


THE END. 


marks the women of our households when they undertake to make their 
homes bright and cheery. Nothing deters them. Their weary work may 
be as long as the word which begins this paragraph, but they prove their 
regard for decent homes by their indefatigability. What a pity that any 
of them should add to their toil by neglecting to use Sapolio. It reduces 
the labor of cleaning and scouring at least one-half. 10c. a cake. Sold by 
all grocers. 


wm * 

a 2 

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R fc® 

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A u 

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O o 

CIS 



Dn. A. W. Thompson, Northampton, Mass., says: "I have tested the 
Gluten Suppositories, and consider them valuable, as indeed, I expected 
from the excellence or their theory.” 

Dr. Wm. Too Helmuth declares the Gluten Suppositories to be “ the 
best remedy for constipation -which I have ever prescribed.” 

‘‘As Sancho Panza said of sleep, so say I of your Gluten Suppositories : 
God bless the man who invented them ! E. L. Ripley, Burlington, Yt. 

“ I prescribe the Gluten Suppositories almost daily in my practice and 
am often astonished at the permanent results obtained.”— J. Montfort 
Schley, M.D., Professor Physical Diagnosis Woman’s Medical College, 
New York City. 

HEALTH FOOD CO., 75 4th Avenue, N. Y. 



THE BEST 

i WASHING COMPOUND 

EVER INVENTED. 

Ho I^ady, Married or 
Single, Rich or Poor, 
Housekeeping or 
Boarding, will He 
without it after test- 
ing its ntility. 

Sold by all first-class 
Grocer s,bnt beware of 
worthless imitations. 


Opinions of Eminent Men about 

“MOONSHINE” 

By FREDERIC ALLISON TXJPPER. 


1 vol., 12mo, Lovell’s Library, No. 805. 20 Cents. 


JOHN G. WHITTIER says : 

“I liave read thy story of ‘Moonshine’ with a great deal of interest. I 
should judge from the book, that it was written bg an eye-witness of the 
scenes it so graphically describes .” 

GEN. BENJAMIN F. BUTLER says : 

“ It takes its place with ‘ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’ Post’s story ‘ From Ocean to 
Ocean,’ and Tourgee’s ‘ Fool’s Errand,’ in teaching the people the acts, doings, 
and feelings of each section. Accept my thanks for the book as a contribu- 
tion to the truth of history." 

SENATOR JOHN SHERMAN says : 

“ I have read the book with interest and pleasure .” 

SENATOR JOHN A. LOGAN says : 

“It seems to b e a well-wntten book so far as I have had an opportunity 
of examining it.’’ 

SENATOR GEO. B. EDMUNDS «says : 

“ Scattered paragraphs that I have read iniei'est me very much." 
EX-SECRETARY GEO. S. BOUTWELL says : 

“I have read your novel entitled ‘Moonshine,’ with great interest. Your 
picture of Southern outrages is a truthful re presentation a3 far as it relates 
to the illicit distillation and sale of whiskey.” 


PRESS NOTICES. 

“ ‘Moonshine’ is a story, not of the moonshine of love or of nonsense, but 
of the tragic moonshine of the ‘ moonshiners.’ It is vividly told end well 
loritten. The hero is not the typical Northerner who used to go South and rt- 
turn a more than typical Southerner; but a Northerner ratner incliiKd to 
Democratic and Southern ideals, who goes South and returns with no dis- 
position ever to stray again from his native heath.”— The Critic. 

“The story is well written and has power in causing impressions of its 
fidelity and in carrying convictions of its truth. It is a story that will enUr- 
tain many readers."— Boston Globe. 

“ Incidentally it affords a view of political subversion in Alabama. If the 
ballot-box throughout the country were juggled with and polluted as it is in 
South Carolina, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, the Republic 
of the United States would be at an end. If is plain that the author xorites 
as an eye-witness."— Cincinnati Commercial Gazette. 

“A sprightly story, graphic in description, vend full of exciting incidents." 
—Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

“ The style is easy ancl graceful."— Chicago Times. 

“ Told with much vigor and slioics no little dramatic power."— Zion's 
Herald. 

“ Full of life and incident."— Harvard Crimson. 

“Mr. Tupper is a terse writer, clear in portrayal, elevated in sentiment, 
and graphic in description. "—Newton { Mass. ) Transcript. 


JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, Publishers, 

14 and 16 Vesey St., New York. 


RECENTLY PUBLISHED. 


1 vol 12mo , illustrated, cloth gilt , $ 1,50 • 


SOCIAL SOLUTIONS 

C Solutions Sociales). 

By M. GODIN, 

Founder of the Familistlre at Guise ; rrominent Leader of Industries in 
France and Belgium; Member of the National Assembly. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY 

MARIE HOWLAND. 


An admirable English translation of M. Godin’s state- 
ment of the course of study which led him to conceive the 
Social Palace at Guise, France. There is no question that 
this publication will mark an era in the growth of the 
labor question. It should serve as the manual for organ- 
ized labor in its present contest, since its teachings will as 
surely lead to the destruction of the wages system as the 
abolition movement lead to that of chattel slavery. 


JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS, 

14 and 16 Vesey Street , NEW YOEK . 



“PAPA’S OWN GIRL.” 

By Marie Howland. 


The manuscript of this great American Novel was 
submitted by the author to one of the ablest of our edi- 
torial critics, who, after a careful perusal, returned it with 
the following analysis of its rare excellence : 

“ As 1 think of them, , the men , women and children of your story 
seem like actually living beings , whom I have met and lived with , or 
perhaps may meet to-morrow. 

“ The last half of your novel is grander than anything GEORGE 
ELIOT ever wrote. I am not, in saying this , disparaging the first 
half of the story , but this last part is a new gospel. THE COURT 
is a creation suggested by the best qualities of the best men you have 
known. THE SOCIAL PALACE , as you have painted it, is the 
heaven of humanity; and the best of it is, that it is a heaven capable of 
realization. ******* The scene of 
DAN'S return , and of his meeting with MIN, is indescribably pathetic > 
no one could read it with dry eyes, and the moral element involved is 
more effective than in any dramatic situation in literature. With the 
time fidelity of the artist you have given perfect attention to your minor 
characters , ‘ TOO SOON' for example ; and I admire the tact with 
which you bring over Mrs. FOREST into sympathy with the SOCIAL 
PALACE and WOMAN'S RIGHTS. This is true ART. Tour 
novel throughout meets all the great questions of the day, even the finan- 
cial one, and it is the best translation of GODIN that could be given. 
You will find a PUBLISHER, be sure of that , and THE NOVEL 
WILL BE THE GREATEST LITERARY SENSATION OF 
THE TIME." 

This powerfully written and artistic Novel is to the social 
questions now convulsing the civilized world what “Uncle 
Tom’s Cabin ” was to the slavery agitation. 


One volume, 1 2mo, Lovell’s Library, No. 534, 
30 cents ; Cloth, 45 cents. 


J OHN W. LOVELL CO., Eubli sliers, 

14 and 16 Vesei£ St., New York. 


TEN MILLION DOLLARS CAPITAL 


IS NOW ENGAGED IN THE 



It is an organization of the manufacturers of many classes of 
merchandise and thousands of private families who reside in all 
parts of the United States, who have acquired some confidence in 
one another, and trade direct between themselves, and thus effect a 
large saving of money by avoiding the middlemen’s expenses, profits, 
and losses. 

All business by correspondence is consolidated and transacted 
through the Members’ and Manufacturers’ Central Offices, located 
at 68 Wall Street, and 14 and 16 Vesey Street, New York City. 

The Association involves the use of Ten Million Dollars invested 
in machinery and manufactured stock, and at least five th'ousand 
employees. So perfectly is this vast syndicate’s systems adjusted, 
that each member gets a direct benefit of the whole organization, by 
saving from 10 to 50 per cent, on all goods purchased, and this 
without assuming any responsibility of loss or making one obligation ; 
while on the other hand, each manufacturer sells his wares for spot 
cash, and only in such quantities as their high grade, quality, and 
reputation warrant. 

Every twenty-four hours the business is completed and not a dol- 
lar remains due to either member or manufacturer. Hence the 
magnificent achivements resulting after two years’ operations of 
this organization. 

Memberships are issued to persons, good for the exclusive use of 
their families, upon payment of seventy-five (75) cents, which sum is 
required to cover the expense of supplying the “Buyer’s Guide and 
Instructor,” a large quarto volume of 250 pages, sent to all new 
members free. 

Confidence in the Association is needed before it is of any real 
benefit to you. This can be obtained in two ways, viz.: 1st, Inquire 
among your neighbors and find some friend who has had dealings 
with the organization ; or 2d, Venture to send some small trial 
orders and judge from the goods received whether the dealings are 
fair and advantageous to you. 

Orders for goods are received from and goods sent to all parts of 
the United States, with Free ^Transportation when ten 
or more members combine or club their orders, the freight charges 
being paid by the Manufacturers at the Central Office. 

Apply at once, and make all remittances for either merchandise or 
membership fees payable to 

A. J. BISHOP, Conductor, 

Peoples Co-operative Supply Association, 

68 Wall St., and 14 & 16 Yesey St., NEW YORK CITY. 



II. RIDER HAGGARD’S NOVELS. 


SHE : A HISTORY OF ADVENTURE. i 2 mo. Paper, 

20 cents. 

There are color, splendor, and passion everywhere; action in abundance; con- 
stant variety and absorbing interest. Mr. Haggard does not err on the side of 
niggardliness; he is only too affluent in description and ornament. . . There is 

a largeness, a freshness, and a strength about him which are full of promise and 
encouragement, the more since he has placed himself so unmistakably on the roman- 
tic side of fiction : that is, on the side of truth and permanent value. . . . He is 

already one of the foremost modern romance writers. — N. Y. World. 

It seems to me that Mr. Haggard has supplied to us in this book the complement 
of “ Dr. Jeckyl.” He has shown us what woman’s love for man really means. — Tht 
Journalist. 

One cannot too much applaud Mr. Haggard for his power in working up to a 
weird situation and holding the reader at the ghost-story pitch without ever abso- 
lutely entering the realm of the supernatural. . . . It is a story to be read at 

one sitting, not in weekly parts. But its sensationalism is fresh and stirring; its 
philosophy is conveyed in pages that glow with fine images and charm the reader 
like the melodious verse of Swinburne. — N. V. Times. 

One of the most peculiar, vivid, and absorbing stories we have read for a long 
time. — Boston Times. 

JESS. A Novel. i 2 mo. Paper, 20 cents. 

Mr. Haggard has a genius, not to say a great talent, for story-telling. . . . 

That he should have a large circle of readers in England and this country, where so 
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shows that the love of fiction, pure and simple, is as strong as it was in the days of 
Dickens and Thackeray and Scott, the older days of Smollett and Fielding, and the 
old, old days of Le Sage and Cervantes. —IT. Y. Mail and Express. 

This bare sketch of the story gives no conception of the beauty of the love- 
passages betw en Jess and Niel, or of the many fine touches interpolated by the 
author. — St. Louis Republican. 

Another feast of South African life and marvel for those who revelled in “ She.” — 
Brooklyn Eagle. 

The story has special and novel interest for the spirited reproduction of life, char- 
acter, scenes, and incidents peculiar to the Transvaal. — Boston Advertiser. 

Mr. Haggard is remarkable for his fertility of invention. . . . The story, like 

the rest of his stories, is full of romance, movement, action, color, passion. “ Jess” 
is to be commended because it is what it pretends to be — a story. — Philadelphia 
Times. 

RING! SOLOMON’S MINES. A Novel. i 2 mo. Paper, 
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Few stories of the season are more exciting than this, for it contains an account 
of 1 he discovery of the legendary mines of King Solomon in South Africa. The 
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ously drawn. — News and Courier , Charleston. 

This novel has achieved a wonderful popularity. It is one of the best selling 
books of the season, and it deserves its great success. — Troy Daily Press. 

THE WITCH’S HEAD. A Novel. 121110. Paper, 20 cents. 
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Published by JOHN W. LOYELL COMPANY, New York. 

Any of the above works sent by mail , postage prepaid , to any part of the 
United States or Canada , on receipt of the price. 


SOCIALISM IN ACTION 


It is the distinguishing feature of the Labor Movement that it 
strives after the attainment of a social state for every human 
being, such as shall be the healthy stimulation of all his good 
qualities, while his bad tendencies shall wither and drop away 
from him by the impossibility of their sustenance. 

To get at this conception of the possible life of man, has re- 
quired the experience of every day and every year, since the race 
arrived at the ability to keep a record of its progress. 

The process of the seasons, the growth and ripening of the crops 
has been the lesson nature has afforded for the study of her 
methods, and this ceaseless repetition has finally awakened man to 
the conception that his own life allies him to the same law of 
development. 

This is the measure of the socialist movement of the present, and 
for those who desire to take part in its furtherance we would com- 
mend tbe study of SOCIAL SOLUTIONS.* 

The main purpose of this publication was to issue the transla- 
tion by Marie Howland of the first public statement by M. Godin, 
of the study and experience he has illustrated in the construction 
and organization of the FAMILISTERE. 

Though the translation of this most important demonstration of 
the new life for labor was announced when it was prepared, by one 
of the chief publishers of this country, yet being abandoned on the 
ground “the labor question was too exciting,” it remained in 
manuscript until, in the course of events, a more progressive pub- 
lisher was found. In its preparation the plan adopted was that 
of twelve parts, each of which should contain such illustrative 
material as the editor should either find or prepare. The twelve 
parts are now published and for sale. While the complete trans- 
lation of M. Godin’s work is contained in eleven of the parts, the 
twelfth part is an admirable and complete exposition of the series 
of social solutions proposed by the Credit Eoncier of Sinaloa, for 
the organization of the society on Topolobampo Bay, in Sinaloa, 
Mexico, which has been gathered by the Credit Fonder of Sinaloa , 
a paper published at Hammonton, New Jersey, at $1.00 a year. 

* Social Solutions, published in 12 parts in Lovell’s Library, price 10 cent;; 
each, or the 12 parts for $1.00. 


JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 

I I anil 10 Tesey St., New Tor]:. 



OUR ROMAN PALACE 

Or, HILDA AND I, 

BY E. BEDELL BENJAMIN. 


One Volume , 12mo Paper , 20 cts Cloth , 3^ cLs. 


Opinions of the Press. 

“ One of the most charming of recent novels.” — Philadelphia Item. 

“It is refined in tone, and will doubtless find many readers to welcome 
it.”— New York Daily Graphic. 

“The story is worth the reading, and Hilda is a character that must excite 
sympathy and admiration, especially of the S. P. C. A ."—Philadelphia Eve- 
ning Bulletin. 

“ A love story of the better class ; the tone is elevating and refined, and 
reading it is like living with nice people, and enjoying their pleasures and 
social life. It is one of the most fascinating novels we have seen for a long 
time. A real treat .''—Portland Argus. 

“ What shall we say of a book In which ia not one love story alone, but in 
which three full-fledged ones are concentered ? The author writes not only 
entertainingly, but she interweaves much that is excellent in tone and com- 
mendable in precept and example.”— Troy Whig. 

“ It is pure in tone, refined in sentiment, and with a movement sufficiently 
rapid to keep the reader interested to the very end. Some conversations on 
music show that the author understands the divine art.”— New York Evening 
Mail. 

“ ‘Hilda and I’ is a rest to the weary after the turbulence of recent un- 
limited folios of tragedy. It is a rich feast of pleasantness in all possible 
directions. Music, art and all charming things rise up before one in the right 
place and at the proper moment.”— New York Home Journal. 

“ Fresh and breezy as sea air ; full of originality in plot and incident, with 
well-drawn characters, who live and move with individuality and interest. 
The heroine, Hilda, is at once charming, and a new creation in fiction.”— 
Godey’s Magazine, Philadelphia. 

“ The conversations are lively and sparkling— the characters are always 
pure and true, and, although sometimes idealized beyond the requirements of 
a realistic standard, are not unnatural. The tone of the story is high, and its 
moral excellent.”— Bridgeport Standard. 


JOHN W. LOVELL CO., PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK, 


Lovells Household Library, 

% 


This admirable series of Popular Books is printed on 
heavier and larger paper than other cheap series, and is 
substantially bound in an attractive cover. 

The following are the earlier issues. The best w r orks of 
new fiction will be added as rapidly as ^ they appear. 


1 A Wicked Girl, by M. C. Ilay 25 

2 The Moonstone, by Collins 25 

3 Moths, by Ouida 25 

4 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll, by R. L. 

Stevenson ; and Faust 25 

5 Peck’s Bad Boy and his Pa, by Geo. 

W. Peck 25 

6 Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte 25 

7 Peck’s Sunshine, by Geo. W. Peck. . 25 

8 Adam Bede, by George Eliot 25 

9 Bill Nye and Boomerang, by Bill 

Nye Himself 25 

10 What Will the World Say ? 25 

11 Lime Kil l Cl xb, by M Quad 25 

12 She, by H. Rider Haggard 25 

13 DoraT.iorue, by B. M. Clay 25 

14 File No. 113, by E. Gaboriau 25 

15 Phyllis, by The Duchess 25 

16 Lady Val worth's Diamonds, and The 
Haunted Chamber, by The Duchess.25 

17 A House Party, and A Rainy June, 

by Ouida 25 

18 Set in Diamond?, by B. M. Clay 25 

19 Her Mother’s Sin, by B. M. Clay 25 

20 Other People’s Money, by Gaboriau. 25 

21 Airy Fairy Lilian, by The Duchess . 25 


22 In Peril of His Life, by Gaboriau 25 

23 Tne Old Mam’selle’s Secret, by E. A. 

Marlitt . . . 25 

24 The Guilty iiiver and The New Mag- 

dalen, by Wilkie Collins 25 

25 John Halifax, by Miss Mulock 25 

26 Marjorie, by B. M. Clay 25 

27 Lady Au Uey’s Secret, by Braddon . .25 
29 Peck's Fun, by George W. Peck ...25 

29 Thorns and Orange Blossoms, by B. 

M. Clay 25 

30 East Lynne, by Mrs. Wood 25 

31 King Solomon’s Mines, by Haggard. .25 

32 The VVitch’s Head, by Haggard 25 

33 The Master Passion, by Marryat 25 

34 Jess, by H. Rider Haggard 25 


35 Molly Bawn, by The Duchess 25 

36 Fair Women, by Mrs. Forrester 25 

37 The Merry Men, by Stevenson 25 

3S Old Myddleton’s Money, by Hay 25 

39 Mrs. Geoffrey, by The Duchess 25 

40 Hypatia, by Rev. Charles Kingsley. .25 

41 What Would You Do Love? 25 

42 Eli Perkins, Wit, Humor, and Pa- 

thos 25 

43 Heart and Science, by Collins 25 

44 Baled Hay, by Bill Nye 25 

45 Harry Lorrequer, by Lever 25 

46 Called Back and Dark Days, by Hugh 

Conway 25 

47 Endymion, by Benjamin Disraeli 25 

4S Claribel s Love Story, by B. M. Clay . 25 

49 Forty Liars, by Bill Nye 25 

50 Dawn, by H. Rider Haggard 25 

51 Shadow cf a Sin, and Wedded and 

Parted, by B. M. Clay 25 

52 Wee W’ifie, by Rosa N. Carey 25 

53 The Dead Secret, by Collins 25 

54 Count of Monte Cristo, by Dumas... 50 

55 The Wandering Jew, by Sue 50 

56 The Mysteries of Paris, by Sue 50 

57 Middlemarch, by George Eliot 50 

58 Scottish Chiefs, by Jane Porter 50 

59 Under Two Flags, by Ouida 50 

CO David Copperfleld, by Dickens ... 50 

61 Monsieur Lecoq, by Gaboriau 50 

62 Springhaven, by R. D. Blackmore. . .25 

63 Speeches of Henry Ward Beecher on 

the War, 50 

64 A Tramp Actor 25 

65 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, by 

Jules Verne 25 

66 Tour of the World in 80 Days, by 

Jules Verne 25 

67 The Golden Hope, by Russell 25 

68 Oliver Twist, by Dickens 25 

69 Lovell’s Whim, by Shirley Smith 25 

70 Allan Quatermain, by liaggard.. .25 


JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 and 1C Vesey Street, Ne\y York. 



Publishers of 


■ HOME 
KNOWLEDGE. 

^ i >^u■■la8Pg Bi g^^^ , i 

A MONTHLY MAGAZINE edited by Robert A. 

Gunn, M.D. This Magazine is devoted to Practical and House- 
hold Knowledge, Family MEDICINE, the Preservation of HEALTH 
and Prevention of Disease, the Care and Feeding of Infants and 
Children, Education, Literature, Popular SCIENCE, and answers 
to correspondence on all Medical and Scientific Subjects. Price, 
$2.00 per year ; 20 cents per copy. And manufacturers of 



Dr. Gunn’s Hom3 Pills, Dr. Gunn’s Home Liniment, Dr. Gunn’s Home 
Tonic for Women, Dr. Gunn’s Home Dyspepsia Cure, Dr. Gunn’s 
Home Kidney Cure, Dr. Gunn’s Home Catarrh Specific, and a full line 
of FAMILY MEDICINES; also 6COSMEMA, the celebrated 
Greek Complexion Beautifier used by the Empress Josephine and 
her Court, and other Toilet and Household Articles. Home 
Knowledge Association is incorporated, with a capital of 
$250,000, and authorized to publish and sell Magazines, Papers, 
Books, Medicines, etc., also to manufacture Dr. Gunn’s FAMILY 
MEDICINES. Every subscriber to HOME KNOWLEDGE 

will receive, free of cost, a large quarto book describing the symp- 
toms and treatment of all diseases to which our REMEDIES are 
applicable, including a descriptive catalogue of the standard and 
new BOOKS, magazines, and newspapers published in America and 
England. This elaborate and useful work of reference, com- 
piled by the ablest physicians and bibliographers, is worth much 
more than the price of the magazine ; also a certificate entitling 
him or her to a yearly membership of the association, the benefits 
of which are the ability to purchase all Papers, Magazines, Books, 
and Medicines at wholesale prices, thus saving members, each 
year, many times the subscription price of HOME KNOWL- 
EDGE. 

On application we will mail, free of charge, a full descriptive 
circular of the MAGAZINE and Dr. Gunn’s Family Medicines. Town 

and County Agents Wanted. Special inducements to Agents. 
For particulars address 

HOME KHOWLEDGE ASSOCIATION, 45 E. 22(1 St., Hew lort 



The most widely quoted Humorous Paper. 
PRICE, FIVE CENTS. 


EVERY ONE KNOWS THAT NO BRIGHTER FUN FINDS 
ITS WAY INTO PRINT THAN THAT WHICH IS TO BE 
SEEN IN ALL NEWSPAPERS , CREDITED TO TID-BITS. 

EVERY ONE (WITH ONE EXCEPTION ) KNOWS THAT TID- 
BITS IS EQUAL TO THE BEST OF THESE SAMPLES 
OF ITSELF; AND THAT IT IS CLEVER, BRIGHT AND 
WHOLESOMELY, GENUINELY HUMOROUS FROM BE- 
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•F THE READER BE THAT EXCEPTION HE WILL DO 
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COPY OF THE PAPER, ANY WEEK; OR IF HE INVEST 
ONE CENT IN A POSTAL CARD, ON RECEIPT OF 
WHICH THE PUBLISHERS WILL MAIL A SAMPLE 
COPY. 

With its handsome typography, 

COPIOUS ILLUSTRATION 

and lively wit, at FIVE CENTS 
TID-BITS is the Cheapest Weekly Published. 


TID-BITS PUBLISHING 00., Publishers, 

14 Vesey Street , New York. 


uxer- cT y j r . -y? .» w i mh* 


DR. SCOTT’S 

Electric Corsets and Belts. 

Corsets, $1.00, $1.50, $2.00, $3.00. Belts, $3.00. Nursing Corset, 
Price, $1.50. Abdominal Corset, Price, $3.00. 

Seventeen thousand families in the City of New York alone are now wearing 
them daily. Every Man and Women, well or ill, should daily 
wear either the Corset or Belt. 

OUR CORSETS ARE DOUBLE STITCHED AND WILL NOT RIP. 

If you have any pain, ache, or ill-feeling from any cause, if you seem “ pretty well/’ yet lack 
energy and do not “feel up to the mark,” if you suffer from disease, we beg you to at once try these 
remarkable curatives. They cannot and do not injure like medicine. Always doing good, never 
harm. There is no shock or sensation felt in wearing them. Every mail brings us testimonials 
like the following : 

We guarantee safe delivery into 
your hands. Remit in Post-Office 
Money-order, Draft, Check, or in Cur- 
rency by Registered Letter at our 
risk. In ordering kindly mention 
Lovell's Library , and state exact 
size of corset usually worn. Make 
^ all remittances payable to GEO. 
A. SCOTT, s4 'i Broadway, 
New York. 

N. B. — Each article is 
V stamped with the English 

w j\ coat-of-arms, and the 
name of the Proprie- 
ty > tors, THE PALL 
MALL ELECT. 
SS R I c ASSOCIA- 
TION. 


thf. celebrated Dr. W. A. 
HAMMOND, of New York, formerly 
Surgeon-General of the U S. Army, 
lately lectured upon this subject, and 
advised all medical men to make 
trial of these agencies, describing at 
the same time most remarkable 
cures he had made, even in cases 
which would seem hopeless. 

The Corsets do not differ 
in appearance from those 
usually worn. They are 
elegant in shape and 
finish, made after the 
best French pattern, 
and warranted satisfac- 
tory in every respect. 

Our Belts for both gents 
and ladies are the gen- 
uine Dr. Scott’s and are 
reliable. 

The prices are as 
follows: $1, $1.50, $‘2 
and $3 for the Cor- 
sets, and $3 each 
for the Belts. The 
accompanying cut 
represents our No. 

*2, or $1.50 Corset. 

We have also a 
beautiful French shap- 
ed Sateen Corset at $3, 
also a fine Sateen Abdom- 
inal Corset at $3, and a short 
Sateen Corset at $‘2. The $1 
and $1.50 goods are made of 
fine Jean, elegant in shape, 
strong and durable. Nur- 
sing Corsets, $1.50; Miss- 
es, 75c. All are double 
stitched. Gents’ and 
Ladies’ Belts, $3 each ; 

Ladies* Abdominal 
Supporter, an invalu- 
able article, $12. They 
are sent out in a hand- 
some box, accompanied by a 
silver-plated compass by which 
the Electro- Magnetic influence 
can be tested. If you cannot 
find them in your dry goods 
Store, remit to us direct. We 
will send either kind to any 
address, post-paid, on receipt 
of price, with 20 cents added 
for packing and postage. 



Hollis Centre, Me. 

I suffered severely from back 
trouble for years and found no 
relief till I wore Dr. Scott’s Elec- 
tric Corsets. They cured me, 
and I would not be without 
them. Mrs. H. D. Benson. 


Memphis, Tennessee. 
Dr. Scott’s Electric Corsets 
have given me much relief. I 
suffered four years with breast 
trouble, without finding any 
benefit from other remedies. 
They are invaluable. 

Mrs. Jas. Campbell. 


Chambersburg, Pa. 

I found Dr. Scotrs Electric Cor- 
sets possessed miraculous power 
in stimulating and invigorating my 
enfeebled body, and the Hair 
Brush had a magic effect on my 
scalp. Mrs. T. E. Snyder, 
Fancy Goods Dealer. 


De Witt, N. Y. 

I have an invalid sis- 
ter who had not been 
dressed for a year. 
She has worn Dr. 
Scott’s Electric 
Corsets for two 
weeks, and is now 
able to be dressed 
and sit up most ol 
the time. 

Melva J. Doe. 


Newark, N. Y. 

Dr. Scott’s Electric Corsets 
have entirely cured me of mus- 
cular rheumatism, and also ot 
severe case of headache. 

Mrs. L. C. Spencer. 


Dn iKk 8 Sl *?°' $1 ‘ 50 ’ $2.00, $2.50, $3.00; Flesh 

Blushes, $4.00 ^ Dr. Scott s Electric Tooth Brushes, 60 cents ; Insoles, 

60 PBOCTECTOR, $3.00; ELECTRIC HAIR 

CURLER, 60 cents; LUNG AND NERYE INYIGORA- 
TORS, $5.00 and $10.00. 

A RRF&T 9I1PPFQQ ^ A Go °d IjiT0 Canvassing Asrent WANTED in 
+ 11 , 1 wUuULOO your town for these splendidly advertised and 

nest selling pods in the market. LIBERAL PAY, QUICK SALES. Satisfae- 
tion guaranteed. Apply at once. GEO. A. SCOTT, 842 Broadway, N. Y. 



The treatment of many thousands of 
cases of those chronic weaknesses and 
distressing ailments peculiar to females, 
at the Invalids’ Hotel and Surgical In- 
stitute, Buffalo, N. Y., has afforded a 
vast experience in nicely adapting and 
thoroughly testing remedies for the 
cure of woman’s peculiar maladies. 

Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip- 
tion is the outgrowth, or result, of this 
great and valuable experience. Thou- 
sands of testimonials received from pa- 
tients and from physicians who have 
tested it in the more aggravated and 
obstinate cases which had baffled their 
skill, prove it to be the most wonderful 
remedy ever devised for the relief and 
cure of suffering Avomen. It is not re- 
commended as a “cure-all,” but as a 
most perfect Specific for woman’s 
peculiar ailments. 

As a powerful, invigorating 

Ionic it imparts strength to the Avholo 
system, and to the uterus, or womb and 
its appendages, in particular. For over- 
worked, “worn-out,” “run-down,” de- 
bilitated teachers, milliners, dressmak- 
ers, seamstresses, “shop-girls,” house- 
keepers, nursing mothers, and feeble 
women generally. Hr. Pierce’s Favorite 
Prescription is the greatest earthly boon, 
being unequalled as an appetizing cor- 
dial and restorati\ r e tonic. It promotes 
digestion and assimilation of food, cures 
nausea, Aveakness of stomach, indiges- 
tion, bloating and eructations of gas. 

As a soothing and strengthen- 
ing nervine, “ FaA r orito Prescription ” 
is unequalled and is invaluable in allay- 
ing and subduing ncrA r ous excitability, 
irritability, exhaustion, prostration, hys- 
teria, spasms and other distressing, nerA'- 
ous symptoms commonly attendant upon 
functional and organic disease of the 
womb. It induces refreshing sleep and 
relieves mental anxiety and despond- 
ency. . _ 

Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip- 
tion is a legitimate medicine, 
carefully compounded by an experienc- 
ed and skillful physician, and adapted 
to woman’s delicate organization. It is 


perfectly harmless In p£ effects in any 
condition of the system. 

“Favorite Prescription” is a 
positive cure for the most compli- 
cated and obstinate cases of ieucorrhea, 
or “ whites,” excessive flowing at month- 
ly periods, painful menstruation, unnat- 
ural suppressions, prolapsus or falling 
of the womb, Aveak D£.ck, “female weak- 
ness,” anteversion, retro Aversion, bearing- 
doAvn sensations, chronic congestion, in- 
flammation and ulceration of the womb, 
inflammation, pain and tenderness in 
ovaries, accompanied with internal heat. 

In pregnancy, “Favorite Prescrip- 
tion” is a “mother’s cordial,” relieving 
nausea, weakness of stomach and other 
distressing symptom j common to that 
condition. If its use is kept up in the 
latter months of gestation, it so prepares 
the system for delivery as to greatly 
lessen, and many times almost entirely 
do away with the suilerings of that try- 
ing ordeal. 

“ Favorito Prescription,” wbew 
taken in connection with the use of 
Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery, 
and small laxative doses of Dr. Pierce’s 
PurgatiA'O Pellets (Little Liver Pills), 
cures Liver, Kidney and Bladder dig. 
cases. Their combined use also removes 
blood taints, and abolishes cancerous 
and scrofulous humors from the system. 

Treating tlie Wrong Disease.— 
Many times Avomen call on their family 
physicians, suffering, as they imagine, 
one from dyspepsia, another from heart 
disease, another from liver or kidney 
disease, another from ncn r ou3 exhaus- 
tion or prostration, another with pain 
here or there, and in this way they all 
present alike to thcmseh'cs and their 
easy-going and indifferent, or over-busy 
doctor, separate and distinct diseases, 
for which he prescribes his pills and 
potions, assuming them to be such, 
Avhen, in reality, they arc all only symp- 
toms caused by some Avomb disorder. 
The physician, ignorant of the cause of 
suffering, encourages his practice until 
large bills are made. The suffering pa- 
tient gets no better, but probably Avorso 
by reason of the delay, wrong treatment 
and consequent complications. A prop- 
er medicine, like Dr. Pierce’s Favorito 
Prescription, directed to the cause Avould 
liaA r e entirely rcmoA’ed the disease, tlicrc- 
by dispelling all those distressing symp- 
toms, and instituting comfort instead of 
prolonged misery. 

‘‘Favorite Prescription'’ is the 
only medicine for women sold, by dreg- 
gists, under a positive guarantee, 
from the manufacturers, that it will 
give satisfaction in every case, or money 
Avill be refunded. This guarantee has 
been printed on the bottle-wrapper, and 
faithfully carried out for many years. 
Fargo bottles (100 doses) $1.00, or 
six bottles for $5.00. 

{3P“Send ten cents in stamps for Dr. 
Pierce’s large, illustrated Treatise (160 
pages) on Diseases of Women. Address, 
World’s Dispensary Medical Association! 


THE UNE SELECTED BY THE U. S. GOVERNMENT TO CARRY THE FAST MAIL. 


WHEN YOU TRAVEL 


TAKE THE 


Burlington 

Route 


C.B.&Q.R.R. 



Through Train* between CHICAGO, PEORIA, ST. LOUIS and 

ENVER. KANSAS CITY. ST. PAUL. 

AHA* ATCHISON. MINNEAPOLIS. 

UNCIL BLUFFS. ST. JOSEPH. DUBUQUE. 

LINCOLN. TOPEKA. DES MOINES. 


Trains to and from NEW YQRK, BOSTON, PHILADELPHIA and all points EAST, connect with 
Through Trains via the Burlington Route to and from 

SAN FRANCISCO, PORTLAND. CITY OF MEXICO, 

AND ALL RESORTS IN COLORADO AND ON THE PACIFIC COAST. 


The only railroad west of Chicago having !a DOUBLE TRACK to the Mississippi River, The 
only line running THROUGH SLEEPERS between CHICAGO AND DENVER, and .'between CHICAGO 
AND TOPEKA. 


For tickets, rates, maps, or further information concerning the Burlington Route, apply to Ticket 
Agents af its own or connnecting lines. 

NENRY B. STONE, PAUL MORTON, 

G*h«f*I Manager. CHICAGO. General Passenger and Ticket Agent. 


THE TUXEDO SUIT. 

— i H i 

A comple costume of original design, novel, elegant, 
and graceful, consisting of Cap, Blouse, Skirt, and 
Sash, Full Fashion, knitted of the Finest Worsted 
Materials, made in a variety of Colorings, and in 
Patterns to match throughout 

From its texture it is especially adapted for 

Lawn Tennis, Yachting, Rowing, Gymna- 

sium, the Mountains, and ail Athletic 
and Out-door Sports for Ladies 

and Children. 

Send for Descriptive Circular. 

These suits for sale only by 

JAMES McCREERY & CO., 

Broadway and Eleventh Street, New York. 









































































































































































































































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